


Past Due

by Drasna



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, POV First Person, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26774992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drasna/pseuds/Drasna
Summary: Dean Winchester has an effect on an older woman he's known for years. Kansas, Men of Letters Bunker Setting.Set around Season 15 with some canon-divergent plotting.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 145
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been scratching at this idea and thought I'd give it a go. Since I am IRL older than Dean by a handful of years I thought I'd explore. We'll see how it goes.
> 
> I'm also playing with First Person POV for the first time in a long time (I haven't written in this POV for a good twenty years) so I may revert back and forth from time to time. This may need a couple edits as I go. I'm also messing around with tenses on purpose. So, it may feel more scatterbrained than normal.
> 
> Let me know.

Am I being checked out while checking him out? 

I scan the barcode on the back cover. His eyes are trained on my face with a little more interest than usual.

Do I have some spinach between my teeth from the salad I had for lunch? God, why does he have to do that thing with his tongue?

I readjust the glasses on the bridge of my nose and make some quiet small talk with the gorgeousness in front of me. I do most of the talking and he does most of the nodding.

No. Dean Winchester is not checking me out. He’s just existing and breathing and short circuiting my brain as he tends to do on occasion with his proximity. 

I will not fuss with my hair like I always do when he’s close enough for me to smell him. Oh, Goddammit.

I feel like a sixteen year old around this man. Every damn time. It’s not fair. It happened the first time I met him six years ago. He’d handed over the paperwork and I processed his library card application. He smiled that lopsided grin that says, _You poor unsuspecting creature. I’m so handsome I don’t even have to make much of an effort_. 

That was the day he and his mountain man of a brother, Sam, walked into the Smith Center Library. Back when they had used Campbell as their last names on the application. And before they had helped with a haunting that blew their aliases. At least with me. It was a “job” for them that involved my brother five towns over. The house he had bought for a song at a sheriff sale, turned out, came with a supernatural squatter. 

“No shit it was cheap. Because someone was murdered in it. No offense, but your brother was pretty much asking for trouble knowing that going in.” I still remember Dean’s very accurate logic when they’d gotten the full history. 

I shouldn’t feel like a sixteen year old - when I’m 46, speeding toward 47 in a couple months - with a man five years my junior. Even if it is Dean Winchester. 

He reminds me of my second husband, Lou. Full of sass, rounded out with some grump, and a sprinkle of edge. He drinks like Lou did. I only know that because I’d bought Dean and Sam a round of drinks one night a few years back. It was a thank you after they’d burned the remains of the poor soul that was stuck in what they called a death echo in my younger brother’s house. Top shelf scotch is Dean’s preferred drink of choice when someone else is buying, by the way. And he has a high tolerance for alcohol that one only gets after decades of experience. Like my second husband, Lou.

He drives a vintage muscle car like Lou did, too. You can hear it ten seconds before it turns onto West Court Street and pulls up to park in front of the library. That engine sound always gets my fellow co-workers on high alert and wide eyed, just like me. It’s a disappointment to all of us when it’s not Dean.

He flirts with every female between the ages of eighteen and eighty that crosses his path. Again, like Lou. It’s his default setting. He seems to prefer a tight skirt from what I’ve gathered through my research. But he rarely slights and denies the opposite sex his charms or thorough assessment if they decide to don pants or shorts.

My brain finally registers the title of the book he’s checked out on the computer screen. The attraction fog has lifted for a brief second. I turn the tome over on the counter and read the title aloud. “Fairies and Wood Nymphs? Do I want to ask?”

He shakes his head. I twist my fingers near my mouth to indicate my lips are sealed. Then he flashed me that weird look again. Almost like he’s processing some data. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been in here for over a month and I’m paying every flinch and twitch even more attention than usual. I realize in real time I’m cataloguing all of these In case I don’t see him for another month. Or, God forbid, two months. “You really are, aren’t you, Winter?” He finally pipes up with a question, using my surname as usual. The smile returns to his face.

“What’s that, Mr. Campbell?” I respond with a way too giddy smile and slide the book back to him. My coworkers are probably snickering at me behind the periodicals as they watch the show. Sure, like they wouldn’t be putty in this man’s hands, either. Even Ronald turns into mush around Dean.

He bends and leans back a bit to rest those thick forearms on the counter. Plaid clad shoulders, green eyes, freckled skin, and pouty lips are now at eye level with my five foot four frame. “Good at keeping a secret.” He mumbles and lowers his voice more with every syllable.

That voice triggers the floodgates down below.

What the hell is going on right now? “Friends don’t call me ‘The Vault’ for nothin’.” I somehow get the sentence out. Being this close reminds me of the night at the bar. When the scotch had worked its magic at the Mexican restaurant. The neon green cactus aesthetic and terra cotta motif had lulled Dean into some sort of sarape security blanket. He’d divulged a lot after Sam, downing only one drink, had left in the Impala with the promise to pick up his brother in a couple of hours. By the end of the night, Dean said I was a good listener and not quick to judge. That I had a nice calming presence. That I’d must have seen some heavy shit in my lifetime, too. 

“Can I ask you something?” His brows raise.

My mouth has dried up so I can only nod in response.

He cocks his head to the library entrance. “Do you have a minute to talk outside?”

I nod again. I may not be the boss, but my seniority and elder status give me a little leeway.

He rises up, taps the counter and grabs the book. “I’ll be waitin’ in the car.” I get a full smile this time and almost pass out.

I push the front door of the library and spill out on the sidewalk a couple minutes later. His black beauty of a car is still there, waiting. The nippy Fall temperature is enough for me to wrap my cardigan tight around my middle. Dean is in the driver’s seat, windows open, with Lynyrd Skynyrd playing on the radio.

He has an eager and appreciative look on his face when he exits the vehicle and walks toward the hood to meet me. “Thanks.”

I shrug. “What did you want to ask me?” I wrap some stray, windswept strands back behind my ear.

“Sam and I, we could use some help at the bunker.”

I can’t help but gasp at the word. Bunker. This legendary place I’ve gotten sparse, verbal descriptions of here and there over the years. Their home base. Sam has boasted of its library to me.

“Well, mainly Sam could use some help. Because I’m useless when it comes to the library. And, he also doesn’t trust me when it comes to the books.”

Library. I’m able to stifle another gasp. I stand in silence, waiting for more.

He sighs. “Let’s just say we had an accident. A lot of the books got damaged, flew off shelves into a massive paper mountain.”

My head nods in a fury. “Yes, I’d love to help.”

He chuckles at my eagerness. “Great.” He hands me a note, like we’re in high school. “Meet me at this intersection and I’ll show you the rest of the way there?”

“When?”

“Whatever's good for you.”

I realize how non existent my social life is lately and offer, “Friday night?”

He nods. Another grin. “Eight?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“It’s a date.” He winks.

Lou NEVER winked.


	2. Chapter 2

I left my cottage in Smith Center that Friday after the sun had set. It was a twenty minute drive before I came upon Dean at the crossroads, waiting for me with a grin and a goal when my headlights spotted him. I followed Dean’s Impala in my Wrangler down the long, winding prairie road eventually overtaken by trees for another ten minutes. The radio kept me company in the dark. The wooded area closed in on each side as I drove behind the Impala’s wake. 

A clearing amid the trees to the right gets my attention. I peer up and gasp, braking in time to avoid a mild fender bender after Dean’s abrupt stop. 

The bunker looks like a massive detention center or secret government facility built into a rather large hill. It’s intimidating in its grey, drab, and impenetrable appearance. Illumination from the moon and stars in the Kansas sky provide a perfect backdrop. I can see the outline of the sharp roofline structure high above the tree canopies.

What the hell am I getting into? These brothers have provided the occasional glimpse into their lives with the weird research requests over the past few years. I should feel scared or worried. But, the quick pace of my heartbeat has more to do with the excitement of peeking at what’s behind the curtain. And, finally seeing the place Sam and Dean Winchester call home in Lebanon, Kansas.

The squeak of Dean’s driver side door as it opens and he plants boots on the gravel makes the blood pound in my ears. He eases, almost pours out. The door cinches shut with a creak. My headlights spotlight him again. He strolls over on those bow legs. I kill the engine. He leans against my open window, staring down, a hand and forearm reclining on the rooftop. “Still okay with this, Winter?”

I smile. He’s such a perfect mix of rugged and that kind of handsome they don’t make anymore. He reminds me of Paul Newman, Robert Redford, John Wayne or Clint Eastwood in their heyday. But, then he’ll shine some cheekiness that gives me the vibe of a Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin hosting a variety hour from the 60s. I stare at those lips a little longer than I should. Again. “Yep. This is already the most eventful Friday night I’ve had in forever.”

He taps the roof. “Alright, then.”

The temperature has dropped and I’m glad I wore a heavy jacket. The gravel crunches underfoot and Dean has enough courtesy and manners to lead the way in the dark with a flashlight.

“Got a few concrete steps here. Careful on the way down.”

I chuckle. “So nice of you to look out for your elder.”

He waves the flashlight in my direction, but low to my chest so it’s not directly in my eyes. “You do that a lot, you know.”

I stop in my tracks. “What?”

“Point out that you’re older than me.”

“Do I?”

“Mh-hm.” The flashlight rotates back around in his hand so we can continue the trek. He waits until we are both at the threshold of a large door. It looks like a bank vault. The click of a key in a lock is heard when he adds, “Why do you do that?”

I shrug in the shadows.

The door gives to Dean’s pull and sounds like he’s breaking some type of hermetic seal. In moments we are atop a stairwell. The door slams behind us and makes me jump. My eyes widen at the view below, something out of a 40s war room. Dean’s already halfway down the iron staircase before my feet are able to move. I track and inventory the vintage communication devices, the art deco architecture, the solid build of this secret place with brick and stone and marble. A huge table in the middle of the room has a world map lit up from below as its surface. Dean drops his backpack on the table without a second glance. “Sam!” He yells.

He walks to a large open entryway into another room with a step up. I glimpse the row of tables and shelves. And the books. The books scattered everywhere. The smell of leather and musky paper fills the air. I inhale deep and get that little whiff of smoke and vanilla that I love.

“I’d invite you to make yourself at home, but that’s not really possible at the moment.” He motions for me to follow. Dean shucks off his jacket and hangs it on the back of one of the chairs. I’m attracted to a nook in the beautiful hall filled with clutter. I drape my jacket on a wingback chair and pick up a hardbound book on one of the stacks. There are dozens of these book pillars piled in various heights, some reaching to my shoulders. “Where the hell is he?” Dean asks no one in particular.

I notice a Samurai sword on display to my left when Sam’s free floating voice calls out. “Be there in a minute, Dean!”

Dean sighs and slinks through the maze of books. He lands on my right and stares down at me. “Are you hungry? We’ve got a stocked kitchen for once. Sandwich? Snack? Beer?”

I shake my head, too busy splitting my gaze between his expectant green eyes and the volume in my hands. “Is this an actual first edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales?”

Dean opens his mouth but Sam answers, peeking over the Samurai sword on the bookshelf. “Yep. From 1909. Thanks for coming to help out.” He smiles.

“This is… wow.” I’m speechless.

“Well, I’m hungry.” Dean pipes in. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He darts and bounds up another small set of stairs leading out of the library.

“Remember,” Sam begins.

Dean halts in the other doorway. “I’m not bringing any food in here. I got it, Sam, nothing that might mess up your precious. You're worse than that goblin thing in Lord of the Rings.”

“Gollum was a hobbit.” I correct him.

“Stoor hobbit, actually.” Sam nods in agreement.

Dean purses his lips and raises both hands, then slams them in mock defeat against his thighs. “Thanks for clarifying. Looks like we found the best person to help.” He shakes his head and gives me a tiny smile before disappearing.

My heart beat skips at that smile.

*

Sam and I spend a good fifteen minutes deciding on a strategy to divide and conquer. He’s as giddy as I am to get these things back in their proper spots. The Dewey Decimal system makes the overwhelming task a bit easier. He really only needed another pair of hands and a bookish mindset. I’ll take one side of the library, Sam the other. He’s pulled out a pencil sketch of the shelves and their categories, as best as he can recollect.

“Dean got this glazed look when I asked him to help organize after we got them piled up and out of the middle of the room.”

I thumb through the index cards in the catalogue to get my bearings and hope to find homes for a couple books to start. Anything that doesn’t go on my side that I come across, I’ll leave for Sam on the table closest to the war room. He’ll place anything for me on the other table. “An actual explosion?”

Sam nods. “It was like an earthquake. Shook everything. And, then, there were the…” He clamps his lips tight and runs his fingers through his long hair. “Too much information for your first night. I want you to come back and help.”

I narrow my eyes. “I was already crazy enough to come. It would have to be pretty terrifying for me not to return.”

He shrugs and only repeats, “I want you to come back.”

We talk. He’s hesitant to indulge me with certain facts. But when I ask if Dean has any culinary skills to speak of, he’s almost an open book. Burgers and charring meat appear to be Dean’s specialty. I smile, feeling the tap and tug of my heart, thinking about how good my first husband, Rick, was with a grill and a smoker. I ask about Jack. Sam tells me that he’s staying with Cas for a while. 

One afternoon, a couple years back, Dean and I stood huddled by a monitor in the technology area. He was dressed in a sharp blue suit and wore a cologne that filled my nose with citrus and cedar. To this day, I’m not sure how I managed to remain upright.

He was in need of some topographic maps of Lebanon. I didn’t ask why and he seemed grateful. I asked about Jack, since he was fresh in my mind from a recent visit. Dean steeled his jaw before confessing he and Sam were having difficulty with their new charge. I learned they had saved Jack from a dangerous situation. I assumed it was something supernatural. His mom had passed when he was born and their friend, Cas, had taken the boy under his wing not long after that. Now that friend was in need of more assistance with Jack. There was more to the story, but I didn’t press.

I knew why he mentioned Jack’s mom. He knew about my first husband. It had been one of my confessions over those drinks years back. Rick had been my high school sweetheart. We’d married halfway through university at KWU in Salina. I got my bachelors. Rick had turned his volunteer firefighter position into a career, dropped out after two years at university, and kept telling me he was going to go back to school after.  _ After _ was Rick’s favorite word.

We moved back to Smith Center after school. I got a job at the library soon after that. Our son Ricky came along a year later. Rick had promised a five year old Ricky at the dinner table they would go to the neighbor’s farm over the weekend. He’d get his first pony ride. After his 24-hour shift at the firehouse.

Rick never came home after that shift.


	3. Chapter 3

I shake myself from the memory. I’m not sure how long it is before I turn around to grab from a new stack and find Dean standing right there. My nose brushes against his shirt. I avoid slamming the rest of me into him. 

I smell the fresh clean showered scent of him. He’s sporting loungewear like a male supermodel. The spiky damp hair is doing weird things to my insides. I want to run my fingers through them like I’m sprinting through a field of wheat. And, then I want to tug on those strands while he…

“Is Sam taking advantage of you?” He smirks, chin to his chest, looking down at me. “Free labor and all. Sure you aren’t hungry?”

“No, I’m good, thanks. Getting in the zone.”

He nods into his chest. “Well, if you plan on it being an all-nighter, we’ve got plenty of space for you to crash.”

“Dean…” Sam side eyes and scolds him with a slight shake of his head.

I realize how curious I am to explore more of this amazing place. I also realize how much being this close to Dean makes me wish he’d never be more than an arm’s length away. See? Sixteen year old. My twenty-three year old son would be mortified at his mother’s behavior right now. Thank God he’s on his own and away at school, working on his Master’s in Library Science. He would love this book collection, though. “I could use directions to a bathroom.”

Dean smiles. “Sure. Follow me.”

I nod to Sam. His gives me a hesitant smile.

Dean leads out the library in slippers that remind me of something my father would wear. I stare at the heels of his bare feet peeking out from the slippers when he steps up. For a second I get an image of the two of us on the couch watching television. His long and solid frame spread out across all the cushions. I’m seated at one end with his calves propped up on my lap, massaging his tired and sore feet. “Coming, Winter?” Dean’s voice calls out. He’s turned to wait, a quizzical stare at me. Shit, how long have I been daydreaming?

I join him. He’s along my left down the marble and stone corridors. They contain a plethora of doors and intersections that turn my sense of direction on its head. The halls feel cold, antiseptic, even though the design and style is meticulous and elegant.

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “You probably have a dozen more questions now.”

“Try a hundred. It’s just the two of you in this huge place?”

“Well, sometimes Jack. And, Cas.”

“Do you have a cleaning service come in or something?” I run a finger along the marble wall as I pass. I tilt my head in approval at the lack of dirt.

He chuckles. “We’ve got a really great filtration system. Just have the usual upkeep with the common areas and our rooms.”

“I need to get me one of those.”

“Or live in a secret lair with no windows.”

“Hm, that’s true, you don’t have any. You really could not know what’s going on outside while you’re in here.”

“It’s a hermit’s fantasy. Like that hobbit.” He grins and stops at a door. “It’s the bathroom slash showers. Don’t get lost in there. Or on your way back. Make a right out the door, left at the dead end.” He points down the hall with two fingers like a cop directing traffic. “Pass two cross streets, then make a right onto the next one. You’ll see the library entrance on your left. Eventually.”

I frown. “If I get lost?”

“Just call me, Winter.”

*

My flats shuffle down the hall. I make my way back to the library and feel like I’m at work. I shift into my quiet and unobtrusive mood. Unseen unless needed or called upon.

Dean’s instructions were clear and easy to follow. The slight panic at being in an unknown maze subsides when I hear their voices. I turn down the hall. The warm amber light from the library spills into the corridor yards away.

Their voices travel toward me. The acoustics are quite good in this place. I can tell they are trying to keep their voices low.

“You should ease up.” Sam sounds irritated.

“What?”

“Not every woman needs to be a conquest, Dean.”

“Shut it. I-I don’t think about Winter like-.” Dean stutters. “I’d never think of her as a conquest.”

And that. That’s what makes my heart drop into my stomach. Of course he doesn’t think of me that way.

Sam sighs. “I can really use her help. And, she’s always been nothing but nice to us.”

Dean sighs back. “I know that.”

I take a deep breath, beat myself over the head with reality. Cough for good measure so they know I’m coming. When I turn the corner, Sam is busy in his section and Dean is between the tables, ringing his hands, and smiling at me.

He’s been sweet because, why, felt bad for me? Placating me, maybe? He just knows he’s got that effect on women?

“Great at directions, Sam. Told ya.” Dean claps his hands. “I’ve been told enough space has been cleared and that snacks may be brought in.” He raises a finger in the air for emphasis. “I’ll be back.” A quick turn and dash around the corner of a table has him disappearing through the war room.

When I step in to assume my spot I catch his figure heading through a doorway by the stairwell entrance. I resume the work. Quiet and unobtrusive.

“Everything alright?” Sam notices the change.

“Yep.” I flash a smile full of teeth. “This is an amazing collection.” I pretend to rifle through the pages of one book with interest before placing it on a shelf.

“Did Dean… say something… to make you uncomfortable?” Sam strolls closer and leans on the table to sit. I think it’s an attempt to shorten our height differential. “He can get a little carried away.”

I fidget with the frames of my glasses. “No. I’m used to it. He’s like that with every woman, right?” I grab two books and study the spines.

Sam shrugs. “Kind of.” From my peripheral view, I can see him lean down farther and try to make eye contact. Or get a read on me. “I mean, it’s not like you’d be interested, right?” 

This weird sound comes out of my mouth that resembles a laugh being choked out of my windpipe. When I look up Sam has a deer in the headlights expression. The wrinkles on his forehead have multiplied.

He chuckles and blinks. “Right.” Fingers tap on the table surface and he’s back to work on his side.

*

I spend another hour and a half with the brothers in the library. Dean brought a variety of things to munch on. My heart feels a little heavy at my assumption about his interest. The fantasy couldn’t last forever in my head. But I try to enjoy Sam and Dean’s company and take everything at face value. They are nice guys, after all. I’m sure there wasn’t any intentional misleading on the part of my emotions.

I crunch my last carrot stick and slide another book home. “Alright, gentlemen. I do know how to party it up on a Friday night. But it’s close to 10:30. I should get myself home.”

Dean squints. “If it’s too late for a drive back…”

I raise a hand in protest. “They haven’t taken my driver’s license away from me yet due to old age. I’ll be fine.”

Dean’s half-hearted smile disappears. He stuffs a few potato chips in his mouth as he gets up. “Let me put on some shoes.”

“What for?”

He lifts both hands up. “Want to make sure you get home safe. I’ll follow you back.”

My mouth opens. There’s a thrill that I’m quick to squash down. “I might not want you to know where I live.” I interject without thinking.

His eyes widen and then he smiles. “It’s cute that you think we don’t already know where you live.”

My head whips to Sam. He shrugs. “Part of the job. We vet everyone who gets let into our little circle of chaos.”

“Be right back.” Dean confirms there’s no way I’m getting out of an escort home.

Sam is ever so grateful for the assistance tonight. He wraps me up in a huge friendly hug that’s warm and comforting. He thinks he can manage the rest of it on his own. But he offers to have me come back soon, inspect and approve what he’s done. The library is always open for me to visit in case I want to do some actual reading.

Dean returns a few minutes later, fully dressed again. The man is quick and ready for action at a moment’s notice. Could have been a firefighter.

I’m quiet on the way out. I follow him down to our cars. He provides the lead and lights my way to the Wrangler. He clicks the driver’s side door closed once I’m in and suggests a three point turn to head back the road we came in on. He offers to lead in the Impala. I decline, sure in my navigational skills.

I keep checking my rear view mirror on the drive back. I see the silhouette of the assured, confident Winchester. I’m positive that man has broken many hearts. But, probably provided some amazing memories for some lucky women. I’m also positive he’d be a hard act to follow for anyone that came after him. I’m not sure I could handle either of those scenarios at this point. 

And how lucky could one woman get anyway in a lifetime? I think back to Rick and the memories that have a grainy film overlay to them now. How special those years were. How misguided and unfair I was to Lou, constantly comparing him to the man I lost. Knowing that my expectations and a multitude of sins on his part led to our divorce five years back. 

It’s better like this: to admire Dean Winchester from afar with the occasional heart palpitations.

I pull into my short drive. I’m self conscious about the loud rumble of the Impala’s engine as Dean rolls past me to stop in front of my house. My neighbors are scattered here and there along the prairie road. No one is on top of each other. But it’s usually quiet this time of night. Jody or Harry will be peeking because of the noise. A second later my prediction is confirmed. I stare off to the right through my passenger window to see a light snap on in the Wilson’s kitchen window.

I hop out of the Wrangler, ready to walk over to Dean’s driver side and thank him for seeing me home. Dean cuts off the engine and emerges with an energetic self propulsion. I stall in my tracks. Even in the dark I blush at those eyes that I know are trained on me. Goddammit.

“Thanks.” I squeak out and clear my throat.

“No problem. Wanted to make sure you got home safe.” I hear his hands slide into his jean pockets. He’s closer now. My eyes have adjusted to the dark. His tongue peeks out and brushes that full bottom lip. It glistens in the moonlight. He cocks his head to my porch. “Alright if I watch you get inside?” He raises a hand. “Not me being stalky. Just cautious.”

I narrow my eyes. “Do you have a target on your back or something?” A shiver runs down my spine. I’m not sure if it’s due to fear or standing for too long in the chilly October night.

He grins. “Not at the moment.” My mouth opens up at the cavalier response. He turns serious, maybe because of the look I gave him. “We didn’t want to tell you, didn’t want to worry you…”

“That’s a great way to start things off.” I frown and cross my arms.

“You should get inside, Winter. Gettin’ cold.”

“You can’t do that to me. Leave me hanging like that.” I hear a familiar screen door screech open on hinges that need greasing.

He sighs and nods past my shoulder to something behind me. “I don’t want to explain out here. We’ve got an audience.”

I turn around, past my Jeep and the drive to see Harry in his sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s leaning against a pillar under the floodlight of his porch. A sharp nod in my direction. Jody’s voice travels in the night air, asking her husband what’s going on over at my house. I sigh and give the neighbor a wave. “Well, we’ve given them something to talk about.” I mumble. “Might as well come inside for a minute so I get all the facts.”


	4. Chapter 4

The keys jangle on my way up the walk. His boots hit the pavement in a steady rhythm behind me. Even with shaky fingers, my muscle memory unlocks the door and flips the light on in my little great room in less than a minute. I drop the keys in the bowl on the side table and turn to see him giving my home a quick inspection with his eyes. His smile is warm and approving by the time he looks back at me. A multitude of fine lines crinkle around his eyes.

I shuffle out of my coat. I hold back the offer to have him remove his jacket. I did only think this would be a minute. I fold the coat over my forearm, stand, and wait.

He nods and smacks his lips together. “Vampires.”

Every muscle in my face reacts to the word. “Excuse me?”

“Sam and I think a nest of vampires have set up shop in Stockton. Not many. Maybe four.”

My head bobbles atop my neck. “Oh.” He’s discussing vampires like an exterminator would some run of the mill pest. Vampires.

His hands slide into his jean pockets again. The hem of his jacket rests along his knuckles. I take a long hard look at those hands. Those hands kill monsters. He shrugs. “Not quite Dracula. But they do tend to go out and look for things, or people, to feed on at night.” He tilts and drops his head to get my attention back to his face. “So, I hope your neighbors get themselves inside.” He grins. “I mean it’s not like they’re in your backyard. But, an hour’s drive from Stockton to Smith Center is still nothing to play around with.” His lips purse together before he asks, “Where’s Ricky at for school again?”

“University of Kansas. In Lawrence.”

He nods. “Good. Not super close, either. I’ll ask Sam to send you info on them. Vamps. You know, to answer some of your questions.”

“Thanks?”

He raises a hand to laugh behind curled fingers, then scratches his chin. “Take care of yourself, Winter. Don’t open the door to strangers.” He wags a finger at me.

I exhale, processing the data and his charm all at once. “Promise.”

He rotates on his boot heels and steps to the door. A hand reaches out for the knob. But in a flash he’s boomeranged back again to stare into my eyes. His pointy finger is in the air directed at the ceiling for a few seconds. Eyes narrow with a hard stare. “Why do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“The age thing. Making yourself sound like you’re old enough to be my grandmother.” He lifts a shoulder. “Five years older. Nothing to even bat an eye at. So, why bring it up at all?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you do.” He eggs me on for a reason.

I wave a hand half-heartedly in the air. “Maybe I feel like a grandmother.”

He nods. “You’re wise beyond your years, I’ll give you that.” Then, his head shakes with conviction. “But, you don’t look like a grandma.” His voice is lower, softer.

I swallow. Hard. He’s not moving.

“See. Only thing I could come up with… bringing up the whole age thing SO MUCH... was you were trying to let me know you weren’t interested.”

Wait. What? “Interested?”

He nods in a little comical gesture. “You’re good at keeping secrets, right?”

“Think so.”

His nose wrinkles. “I am, too.” He leans back, taller, and those broad shoulders expand outward. “I’ve been tiptoeing around this idea for a few years. Ever since I found out you and Lou broke up. Something always gets in the way that we have to take care of and I never get around to asking. Then, I wait… see if some guy’s snatched you up when we’re back home. No one has.” He nods and licks his lips. “That’s a damn shame for all the other men out there. But, great for me. If,” He leans toward me, bends his head far down and forward to meet my eye level, “you’re interested.” He smiles like a five year old.

“Oh.” It’s the only word I can get out.

He shrugs. “Hey, if you aren’t, no hurt feelings. It’s business as usual when I visit the library. But, if you are… let me take you out for a drink soon.”

“I thought…” His eyes wait as I try to get my words out. “I heard you and Sam, earlier.” I probably shouldn’t, but I spill. “You told him you didn’t see me as a conquest.”

He rises up now, the confidence and swagger is back. “I don’t see you like that, Winter.” He confirms. “Guess that’s why I’ve waited so damn long to ask.” He grins. “That’s not to say I don’t have some questionable intentions. But, I have some good ones, too, where you’re concerned.”

My heart is beating like I’ve run a 5K. “How soon do you want to take me out for a drink?”

Dean takes a deep breath and smiles. “Tomorrow night?”

* 

I’d called Ricky early the next morning. My only son had been on my mind most of the night after Dean left me to think about a mountain of thoughts. My very intuitive son knew something was up by the tone in my voice. I played it off, that I’d had a bad dream. Mama bear had woken from hibernation, that was all. He offered to come by the following weekend for a visit if that would ease my unnecessary worries. I wanted him to, but the reminder of Dean’s vampire problem in Stockton made me urge Ricky to stay put. I’d be fine.

And, then, there was the little thing about meeting Dean for a drink. Tongues would be wagging if we met in Smith Center or Lebanon. I suggested the Buffalo Roam Steakhouse in Mankato, in case we might actually want some dinner with a drink. He could always eat, he had responded with a grin before he left me last night.

I pulled into the parking lot with only a handful of cars and eased in alongside Dean’s Impala. I had hoped to beat him here. The driver’s seat empty upon inspection, I steadied my nerves and headed to the entrance. 

I survey the open dining section of the restaurant after a bell above the door jingles my arrival. The assault of hunting trophies, steer horns, and wood paneling throws off my ability to focus on my intended target.

I’m in his sights first when I see him wave from a corner table in the back. He’s up in an instant, standing in wait. Goddammit. He’s wearing this light blue denim button up over a black tee and dark jeans. I know, on approach, he’s going to smell amazing.

The waitress gives me a nod as we pass each other. She's on her way to another table with cans of soda. Dean is all smiles as he pulls out one of the chairs for me with one hand. I notice he’s picked the chair to his right rather than the one directly across from where he’s sitting. “Good choice, Winter. Pretentious this place ain’t.”

I shrug out of my jacket. He grabs it before I can think, draping it over the back of another seat. He waits for me to sit until he does. Oh man, he smells soapy and spicy. I fiddle with the paper placemat covered in local ads. “Surprised you haven’t been here before, Campbell.”

He nods in that way he always does when I use his alias for public consumption. Almost a silent little thank you. I peek at his place setting. He’s already helped himself to the salad bar. Every choice that wasn’t a vegetable forms a gluttonous pile atop his plate. I’m not surprised and smile. He notices. “Got hungry waiting, sorry.”

I wave a hand wiping away any need to apologize. “Did I get the time wrong? I thought we said seven.”

“Yeah.” One of his knees swipes my thigh under the table. “Sorry.” He mutters. “I-I’d wrapped up some work and figured I’d get here a little early.”

I nod, staring at those green eyes.

“You look nice, Winter.” His grin cocks up one cheek and he motions to the salad bar. “You better get started if you want to keep up.”

Twenty minutes later we’ve settled into our seats after picking our second courses. Dean is excited for the Saturday Buffet Specials. He’s sampled half of the meat and seafood selection by the looks of his plate. No vegetables have been tried. Well, except for French fries.

He sips at his beer and inventories my plate with wide eyes. “Why would you intentionally pick broccoli?”

I chuckle. “Cause it’s good for you.”

He shivers. “Pass.” I notice something’s changed in Dean since last night. Since he’s let me see more of what he and Sam do. Since I’ve seen their secret lair. Since he’s added the existence of monsters to the reality of ghosts and I haven’t run off screaming. He seems a little more relaxed.

“Ricky hates broccoli, too. Most any green vegetable.” I comment without thinking and stab at the food on my plate

“Did his dad like those little demon trees?” A wistful smile graces those pouty lips. They glisten with ale.

“No.” The pain is never really gone when I recall Rick. But, it’s overpowered more often than not as the years go by. There’s more of a thankfulness that I have so many wonderful memories to cherish. “He was all meat and potatoes, all the time.”

“Hm. Sounds like Ricky got the good genes from his dad, when it comes to eating habits that is.”

I throw Dean a hurt feelings glance from behind my glasses. “My arteries are in fine condition, thank you very much. Yours are probably writhing in pain from decades of misuse and torture.”

It’s Dean’s turn to toss a frown with major downturned lips. “Ouch. Let a guy prepare and put on some boxing gloves if we’re going toe to toe in the ring, sweetheart. A little heads up.”

I laugh. “Too much?”

He pinches his thumb and forefinger together and gives me a grin. Attention draws back to his food. Some prime rib is held in position by his fork while the knife saws. “Your arteries aren’t the only thing about you in fine condition.” The mumble is purposeful and loud enough for me to hear. But he doesn’t look up.

Goddammit.


	5. Chapter 5

“I liked Lou.” Dean is on his second shot of whiskey after three beers. We’re an hour and a half into the buffet. He seems to have hit his wall between the beef and the booze. It was pretty impressive to watch the amount of food and alcohol vacuumed into his mouth. In my head, I’m trying to calculate the physical exercise he must get each day to balance that appetite and keep him looking so… edible.

I roll my eyes. “Everybody liked Lou. The ladies especially liked Lou. And, he liked them right back.” I sip my drink. I had switched to water after my only beer.

Dean nods. “I’d heard he was stupid enought to cheat. Sorry, Winter.”

I wave a hand. “It’s been years. I’m good. And he made it easier on me by getting back to trucking and leaving Kansas altogether after the divorce.” A sigh of relief blows past my lips. “It all happened right after Ricky went away to school. Amicable selling of our house. Split the profits. I bought my little cottage house. It doesn’t get any cleaner of a break than that.”

Dean’s stares have been getting, I don’t know, I guess I’d call them intense as the conversation drifts. The verbal back and forth is easy, free flowing. He’s turning me into a puddle of want with every stitch of expression on his face. A round muscled shoulder leans into my corner, massive biceps resting on an elbow atop the table. That knee that he apologized for earlier, at the start of dinner? Yeah, it’s been pressed against the denim covering my thigh for the past five minutes. No sorry this time. “You haven’t dated since.” The words leaving Dean’s mouth are a statement, not a question.

I shake my head.

“Why?”

I want to tell him it’s because he’s been all the beautiful daydreams I’ve needed for a while. That the chance of seeing him every few weeks at the library - staring into those green eyes, asking for some research help - has set the bar super high. That no other man has lived up to my fantasy of him. That I was good with that. That Dean Winchester has been that daunting novel I always meant to check out, but never got the nerve to start. That I was scared of how it might affect me if I ever really sat down and read all those pages. That you don’t consume something that beautiful and not get changed by it. Or worse, hurt.

His eyes are wide open, waiting.

I shrug. “Didn’t want another hassle.”

He nods. “Yeah, I get that.” His knee rubs back and forth. I bite back a groan and take another sip. “Maybe,” he continues, “you should just date for the fun of it.”

I try to hold my own when I respond. “Not take things too seriously?”

“Yeah, Winter.” He smiles. “Isn’t life shitty and serious enough?”

“Well, this has been fun.” I offer.

He nods again. “It has.” He leans in closer. “You know what would make it more fun?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

Dean’s easy chuckle is one of the sexiest things I have ever heard. “More like a suggestion.”

I snag my bottom lip with my teeth. Dean’s gaze halts at my mouth. He licks his top lip. Holy shit. “All ears.” I squeak out.

“There’s a motel a stone’s throw from here.”

My heart’s at the base of my throat again. Crest-Vue Motel practically shares a parking lot with the steakhouse.

“I’ve had a few too many, so I think I’m going to get me a room. Give the alcohol a couple hours to work out of my system.” There’s no smirk or sass on his face or in his voice now. “I sure would like your company. Continue the fun.”

I summon every ounce of nerve I have in me. “Okay.”

*

I sit in my car in the steakhouse parking lot and peer over at Dean in the Impala. Even in the night shadows I can tell the smirk is back. He roars the engine, gives me a two finger salute, backs out, and then peels past my bumper. He darts into the highway for a split second and then swerves into the motel parking lot.

My forehead drops onto the steering wheel. Am I really going to do this? I hadn’t even considered this… okay, that’s bullshit… of course I’ve considered this… hundreds of times. But, this is actually it.

I rationalize I could probably chicken out and he would be okay about it. I might get teased the next time he walks into the library. But, he knows I’m interested. And, I think he’d want to try this again.

But, what’s holding me back now? Any good reason not to? Dean’s right. Isn’t life shitty and serious enough?

I lean up and turn my attention toward the motel. I catch sight of Dean’s figure leaving his car, bathed in the light of the large motel sign overhead. He disappears behind the wall of trees, more than likely heading to the clerk office to check in.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. I should go home. Instead, I wait.

My phone buzzes. It’s him calling. He could have just texted. I swallow. My mouth is as dry as a prairie fire.

I accept the call. Before I can say hello, he states, “I got lucky number seven, Winter. What do you want from the vending machine? They’ve got cookies, chocolate, gummies, ah, licorice… yes.”

I smile. “You’re buying me dessert, too?”

I hear the whir of the machine taking his cash. “Whatever else I gotta do to get you over here. Apparently my charm’s not enough.” He puffs into the phone. A swoosh and slam of metal has me guessing he’s fished out a treat or two, or three.

I want to say his charm is more than enough. But, I stay silent. His admission, wanting me there, wanting me, even if his seesaw side has dipped down into tipsy territory, stuns me.

He sighs. “Don’t play hard to get with me anymore.”

That accusation causes me to respond with haste before I have time to think. “I’ve never done that.” 

“Well, then, I’m tired of thinking you were playing hard to get.”

I whisper into the phone. “All you had to do was ask.”

“I’m asking now, sweetheart.” But I can tell by the low tone and deliberate inflection in his voice, he’s not really asking.

I hang up, not bothering to answer, and start the Wrangler. I pull into a motel parking spot a minute later, right in front of the door marked number seven. My headlights herald my arrival. I turn off the engine and work to calm my breathing. There’s a light on behind the tacky curtains. A shadow paces in the room.

I haven’t wanted anyone this much in a really long time. It’s scary and terrifying. I sweep my tongue over my lips. I can taste the electricity in the air and I’m not even in his presence yet.

I haven’t prepared for the idea of being intimate with this man tonight. I’m not wearing cute lingerie. I only shaved up to my knees and other areas of my body have not been trimmed properly in forever. But, I want to know what those hands will feel like all over me. Want to have those lips whisper filthy drunken things in my ear. I kind of want Dean to let whatever I feel he holds back on a regular basis loose. And let that loose all over me.

Goddammit.

I close my eyes, say a little prayer, then let go. Purse in hand, my jacket drapes over a forearm as I slam the car door. I approach the entrance to lucky number seven and raise a hand to knock. But it opens before I get the chance.

It swings wide. Dean leans against the edge. He greets me with a nod and a small smile. It’s not a smug grin announcing he knows I’d come.

I smile in return. It’s quiet aside from the occasional car zooming along the highway behind us. I pass the threshold and take in the room; focus on something other than him. There’s a gaudy, thin, quilted comforter covering a queen size bed. The theme of the room is a psychedelic jungle jumble of greens and purples. The brass fixtures are rusty. But, I’m thankful the light in the room is warm and not a bright, unflattering fluorescent. A television about four decades old sits atop a just as old dresser. The smell of mildew and smoke fills the air.

The door has clicked closed a while ago. I know he’s behind me, probably inventorying me. Waiting.

I walk to a tiny table and place my bag atop it, next to a little pile of snack bags from the vending machine. My jacket covers my bag. I peek into the open bathroom door and wince.

When I turn back, he’s right there. I gasp at almost bumping into his chest. His soap and spice has been topped off with a whiskey and greasy buffet food aroma. But he still smells amazing. 

He smiles down at me. Time halts. He doesn’t say anything. I hold my tongue while he uses his to lick those lips and make them shine. He starts to stroll in a circle around my figure. On instinct, I’m following his lead with a slow spin on my heels. 

He stops to face me head on. Then, he steps into my space, forcing me to lurch backwards. I realize he’s herding me, hypnotizing with his intense stare. His eyes. Those green, gold flecked irises are so pretty close up. He’s so massive, towering over me, prodding me backwards. It would be understandable to focus on other aspects of this rugged man and not take the time to admire his pretty eyes.

My knees and calves hit the side of the bed and I halt, stuck between it and Dean. But, he’s still coming. He leans in, daring me to connect some part of myself to him. But, I shrink back and tumble onto the bed. My back settles into the lumpy mattress. A soft exhale releases from my lips. I did want him to let loose all over me. Serves me right.

His big hands slip onto the comforter between my elbows and sides. He’s arched above, arms locked, bow legs propped wide open around my calves and knees. He still hasn’t actually touched me since we left the restaurant. I’m trapped and smiling. It must be a giddy, ridiculous looking smile because he’s grinning at me like I’m dinner.

He dips down closer to my face. Licks his lips. A rhythmic breathing from his nose wafts warm air over me. That jaw clenches.

Goddammit.

He snaps back up to standing. The inside of his knees touch me first, corralling my legs shut tight at the thighs. A hand offers itself and I grab it. The skin is red hot and zaps me with electricity. There’s a well worn leather feel to his palm; a fine sandpaper grit to the pads of his fingers. He pulls me up to sit. Heat radiates from his body through the layer of denim against my legs. I crane my neck up to stare at that face.

He hasn’t let go of my hand. He’s threading fingers between mine and swaying our connected palms back and forth to some tune in his head. Another set of fingers slide with ease along the base of my scalp and bury into my hair. They press in and circle against my skin. I stare at him under heavy lids. He massages. I clench my thighs. I’m so wet I’m surprised I haven’t slipped off the bed.

The pull away from me is sudden. I almost moan at the loss of his fingers in my hair and the release of his grip. It snaps my eyes open. He steps back. I marvel at how even standing straight and tall those thick, muscled thighs of his bowlegs never seem to meet. As much as I love that denim shirt, my excitement ramps up when he peels the layer off those shoulders and shuffles it down those arms. The black t-shirt is all kinds of tight in all the right places. Which is everywhere.

His head tilts with sass at me. He balls up and tosses the shirt on top of the dresser. He drops to his knees and places his hands on mine and meets my eye level.

Finally, he speaks. “We good, Winter?”

I sigh. “From what I’m seeing, we’re fantastic.” I smile.

The playful grin is back. His hands reach up and grip the temples of my glasses. “Still able to see if these come off?”

I nod and the glasses stay in place under his hold while my head moves. I laugh. He chuckles and eases them off and deposits them on the nightstand.

There’s no resistance as he parts my thighs open and shuffles closer on his knees. He licks his top lip and uses one hand to work the top button of my shirt. “Was Lou the last?”

The question makes my core pulse even harder. I nod.

“Long ass time, Winter.” Another button. “You tell me what you want, how you want it.” Another button. “I’ll see what I can do to oblige.” Fingers find the curve of one breast under the fabric and stroke. His breath stalls for a second. He closes his eyes. Lids squint in concentration.

I reach out and comb through his short strands. He leans into my touch, eyes closed. I crumble at how soft and content he looks in that moment. “What do you want?”

The question seems to surprise him as much as it does me that I even asked it. His eyes pop open. Another lick. Another button. His lips snuggle into my palm and peck at the skin. “You, Winter. Just want to feel good with you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hear Ye, Hear Ye! Smut has arrived. Honestly, this story can probably only go downhill from here. :-)
> 
> I spent a few passes on this - hope you all enjoy, my fellow Dean lovers.

That’s what I need to spur me into action. I lead. His brows raise. I lean in and connect my lips to his. They’re warm, puffy, smooth and slick from that constant tongue licking. Perfect. I could never have imagined how perfect they feel. He dances with me in this languid and luxurious kiss that lingers. It morphs and evolves. Shifts and tilts and prods and pushes with lean ins and pullbacks. We exchange breath every which way. He exhales, I inhale his essence. He moans, I sigh. A hand cradles my head. My hands cup his strong jaw. 

He delves in with that tongue after an eternity of bliss. The testing and teasing of that muscle will be my undoing. I’m sure of it. He’s not sloppy in his performance or theatrics. It’s just hot enough to leave me wanting more of whatever else he can do with that specific body part.

He pulls up and away, then leans his forehead against mine. “Let me see you.” He releases a quick pant.

My hands anchor onto his shoulders. I push and stand. I like getting to look down as he stares up in wait. He has that same hungry expression on his face from earlier, at dinner. Right before he dived into his buffet plate.

I’m in trouble.

My fingers work the last few buttons of my shirt. I slink it past my shoulders. He helps strip it away and tosses it somewhere. His lips don’t waste time to reconnect and pepper kisses over my bare stomach. My skin tenses and shivers. I close my eyes. His fingers snap open the button of my waistband. The slide of a zipper follows. He’s tugging denim down hips and taking my panties with it. I gasp. “Still what you want?” He breaks the momentum again.

“God, yes.” I murmur.

“Then open your eyes, sweetheart.”

I swallow and do what he asks. He’s kissing each inch of exposed skin as it’s revealed in a slow peel, side to side motion. He catches the curve of my hip bone with a graze of his teeth. A tingle traipses down my spine. Hot breath spills from his open mouth over my curls peeking above the bunched fabric. My hands are back in his hair, stroking.

He inhales then leans back to sit on his boot heels. I chase him with my hands. He chuckles and kisses a few fingertips. It appeases me long enough for him to help me out of my shoes. A quick tug and the black t-shirt is up and over his head and then a tiny heap on the floor. My fingers sweep down his neck. I want to memorize every inch of that chest but he halts my wanderings and clamps a hand around my wrist. “Lie back.” There’s an urgency in his voice.

I do as I’m told. I want to lean up on my elbows but he’s pulling off my jeans in one quick swoop. Strong hands and arms are pulling me closer to the edge of the bed. He leads one leg up over a shoulder and before I know what’s happening I feel his mouth. On me.

He’s moaning, vibrating deep into my core. Fingers splaying over my stomach, then travel upwards and clamp onto my bra cups and squeeze. His mouth. Those lips. That tongue. The sweep of his five o’clock shadow over the tender flesh that never sees the light of day triggers my legs to clench around his body. I grab hold in some kind of erotic wrestling move, one leg around his middle, my knee against his head, calf tight along his spine. He shakes his head and moans “Uh-uh,” into my pussy. He digs fingers into the soft inner part of my thigh and pries one leg away and wide. He’s lapping at me, almost cooing. “No need to be shy now. Damn. You’re beautiful everywhere.” He blows against the wet and heat and I gasp. He’s beyond thorough in his continued investigation. I don’t think anyone has ever been that detailed down there. Or enthusiastic.

He makes me snap without warning with his relentless attention to my clit. I cry out and ride the orgasm. He’s standing above me in seconds, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling in triumph. “Good, huh?”

I nod, unable to use my words. I stare at the beauty. That hair I’ve mussed up with my fingers. His shiny lips coated with me. The flushed skin around his mouth. Proof of how good and hard he worked. That slight scruff I want to feel along my mouth when he kisses me again. 

Goddammit.

His chest is a magnificent sight of muscle, solid and scarred and tattooed and I want it all pressed against me.

“I like how you taste, Winter. Gonna feel even better, I bet.” He pulls out his wallet from a back pocket and fishes out a condom, securing the packet between his teeth. The wallet slides back into its home and he begins to take off his jeans.

I bury the back of my head into the comforter and stare up at the soot-covered ceiling. My hands rest on my stomach, trying to slow down my breathing. But, it’s no good.

“You gonna regret this tomorrow?” His voice asks and drifts above me.

I tip my head up. He’s in all his naked glory, rolling the condom over a cock that makes me blink in awe and swallow hard. “Only regret I have is that you didn’t ask me out for a drink sooner.”

He smiles. “Don’t expect anything earth shattering.”

I shake my head. “Too late.”

He parts my legs open, wedges between them and slides that chest over my skin. He’s hard and insistent against my folds. He combs my hair back and stares at my mouth. “I’ve been waiting a long fucking time to do all of this.” He smiles and dives his face towards me. His lips cover mine, spilling words into my mouth through kisses. “Hm. You feel so good already. So wet and warm.” He explores with his tongue. I taste the excitement he created deep within me. He leans back and up and gazes down again with those pretty eyes. He pushes, searching for my entrance. The tip pierces and breeches. Oh, man. I’m gonna be sore tomorrow and I can’t wait for the impending cause. We moan together as he pushes in farther. His head dips into the crook of my neck. “Yeah. Too fucking long of a wait. You good, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Dean. Ready to have my mind blown.”

He chuckles against my skin. Inch by glorious inch he enters and stretches me open, deep. I almost forgot what it felt like. My little pocket rocket definitely did not prepare me for this man. When he’s all in, or at least I think he is, he groans. I clutch at his back. 

Goddammit.

He grabs one of my knees and secures my leg over his waist. He’s studying my face now, rising up on a forearm. This swervy thing down below occurs with his hips. His pelvic bone stimulates my already overstimulated clit and somehow he pushes in even deeper. “Goddammit.” He groans.

My sentiments exactly, sir.

He pulls out slow, jaw clenched, and rocks backs. My body is tight, sprung and I’m clenching around him on instinct. It’s been too long for me to exhibit anything close to control. Especially not with this man. Air puffs out of his mouth like a marathon runner. “Hell. I wanted this to last longer, too.” He shakes his head at me and then adds an Aw, Shucks tilt. “You just feel too good, Winter.” He’s got a steady momentum and rhythm going.

“You feel amazing.” I sigh and clench again.

“Shit.” He groans and stares down at where our bodies connect. My head lifts to take in the show as well. “Way you're milking my cock, it’s almost like you want me to come quick.” He struggles to pant out a tisk. “Well, if that’s how we’re doing this, I’m going to at least make it memorable… if I can’t make it last.”

My eyes widen in disbelief as he grabs the leg around his waist. He wedges his grip into the back of my knee and pushes forward, holding it in mid-air. He’s trying to turn me into a human pretzel. Cords of muscles I haven’t used in ages start to sear at the stretch. I would laugh out of embarrassment, but the angle and depth of his cock is hitting me in places that have never been stoked like this.

“Doing so good, Winter.” He praises, smiles, and manages to hook my knee over his shoulder again and sandwich it between our bodies. He leans up on his hands, giving me a slight reprieve from the ligament strain with the acrobatics, locks his elbows and grins. “Hold on.”

I want to ask him where exactly I should try to hold on. But there’s no time to think, much less speak anything coherent. I’m moaning at the jackhammering that begins. He’s pistoning those hips, using all that force to slam into me hard and deep. Again and again. He’s groaning and cursing. His face shifts with all types of intensity and pleasure and admiration.

The crown of my head is burrowing into the still comforter-covered pillows. He’s piledriving me toward the headboard inch by inch. I toss my arms overhead and grab at the wood slats. I’m able to gain some leverage in this enthusiastic fucking and counteract his motion. Which only makes the sound of skin slapping louder and his drilling more intense. He nods down in appreciation.

“Oh God, Dean.” He’s lighting me up like kindling. Sparks flare up, brighter, ready to catch and hold that flame and roar to life. It’s all too much and too primal. The fire finally ignites and the heat floods through every cell. I cry out his name again and all my muscles tense.

“Goddamn. Yes.” He releases those words along with the breath he’s held in when he slides into me one final time. The crash and explosion of the orgasm on his face is exquisite. Head tilts up, eyes closed, that pretty mouth opens, and every muscle in his body shudders before cementing into a statue for seconds. His cock pulses against my walls. A shiver follows along with a snatch of breath. “Hm.” He circles his hips again. A hand slides between our bodies, ensuring the condom slides out with him. “Whew.” He tumbles to my right onto his back. 

I almost don’t register the arm that snakes under my back. The motion and push that follows tumbles me head first into his chest. I wrap an arm over his undulating tummy. A warm and sweaty hand snatches my elbow. A smile props my cheeks up at the kiss placed on top of my head.

“I got a little carried away.” He murmurs into my hair.

The warmth of his body envelopes me. Even sweaty and covered in sex, he has the most amazing body chemistry. I exhale. I dare to swirl a finger tip around his belly button and stare at his now flaccid condom covered cock. “You can get carried away like that anytime.”

His grin buries into my strands. “Careful, Winter. I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“I want you to, Dean.”

The hand on my shoulder squeezes tight. “Yeah?”

I nod.

A buzzing from the floor gets his attention. “Shit. I should check, it might…”

I nod again and shift away. “Get it.”

He bungees off the mattress, naked, and heads towards his jeans. I twist to my other side and watch. The view of broad shoulders and the muscled back that leads to that amazing curvy ass atop bow legs makes my face hot again. With phone in hand, he sits on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, Sammy. Uh-huh. No, good work. I can cut dinner short. Winter will understand. Gonna make sure she gets home safe. Send me the address to meet you in Stockton? Okay.” I hear the end call beep of his phone.

“Vampires?”

The back of his head nods. “Yeah. Sam’s got a lead on how they’re selecting victims.” He gives me that side profile and locks his gaze with mine. “Twenty-four hour fitness center.”

I frown. “Well, that’s awful.”

He chuckles, pries the used condom off his cock, ties it off and tosses it into a nearby waste bin. “Is there a better way to become a walking blood bank?”

“No. I guess not.”

He belly flops onto the mattress to stare at me up close. Squeaky springs settle after some seconds. “I’m gonna get you home.”

“Are you good to drive? I could take you to Stockton…” I begin.

“Oh, no. You aren’t going anywhere near that. I’m fine to drive now.”

I nod. “Okay.” A question I’ve been meaning to ask for years pops into my head. The intimacy I’ve now shared with this man gives me the internal permission. “Is that why you use my last name?”

Dean blinks at the non sequitur. “Huh?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me by my first name.”

The pieces drop into place. I can see it on his face. He smiles and leans in to peck my lips. “Winter’s a great nickname, Samantha.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days after the finale and I think we all need some flirty, filthy Dean and a little smut to make us feel better. I hope you all are doing well. I'm still riding a wave of emotions, too. Hang in there. Big hugs!

I’m in the Back Volume section when I hear it. Dean’s Impala. My ears perk up but I don’t move my head. The quick peek from under my glasses catches Shannon at the Loan Desk cock her head towards the picture window. I continue to order the stack of newspapers. Ronald clears his throat above me from the crow’s nest. It’s a slow Tuesday afternoon with only a handful of patrons at the computer banks. 

I haven’t seen Dean since Saturday night. He followed me home as promised. The Wilson’s kitchen light had gone on again with the Impala’s engine rambling late in the night. But my neighbors weren’t as quick as us this time. Dean had dashed onto my front porch and ducked into the shadows to wait for me. He had me giggling and shaking my head at his incessant waving to join him before I got caught by Harry. He’d cupped my face in his large hands and kissed me goodnight by the door. That he was going to meet Sam in Stockton to spy on what might very well be a vampire buffet didn’t phase him in the least. He seemed more concerned about me locking all my doors and windows when he left.

He called the next day like he promised he would, to check in. I received another check in on Monday. I was on Dean’s mind. That made me smile a lot more than usual, which my coworkers picked up on. There were so many wonderful memories from that night lingering in my brain. Of course I would be all smiles. But, I was tight lipped as to the reason for my cheery disposition. I am The Vault, after all.

The library door swings open. Sam enters first, Dean close at his heels. Oh man, they’re both in their serious suit outfits. My heart skips at the glimpse of Dean from my spot in the back. Flashes of him between the aisles notes he’s surveying the entire area. I smile, thinking it’s me he’s looking for. 

Shannon greets the Campbell brothers. There’s some low chatter. Sam’s talking. Shannon points in my general direction. Ronald clears his throat again from somewhere in the library.

I get the last newspaper tucked into a filing cabinet and click it softly shut. Sam leads, on a mission. He spots me and waves. Dean grins at me from behind his brother and my face heats up. He had to have that suit tailored. There’s no way a suit fits a man that well, creates a perfect silhouette, without some assistance. Of course, the man in question is Dean. I tap my knuckles on the oval table and remind myself I’m working.

“Hi, Winter.” Sam’s tone is respectful of his surroundings. He always has a polite smile and nod for me.

“How’s things, Winter?” Dean, on the other hand, is full of sass and all kinds of sexy, as usual. I tamp down images of him rocking above me in the motel bed with my leg propped up on his shoulder. I’m still a little sore from the contortions.

“Hello, gentlemen. What can I do for you?” I flash a toothy smile. 

Dean raises a brow at my question and follows it up with a naughty smirk.

Sam, thankfully, has not looked back at his brother, unaware or disinterested. He tosses a cursory glance behind me and to either side. The man is a mountain above his surroundings as he scans. “Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure.” I offer them seats around the table, sitting first myself.

Sam takes a seat across from me and drops the manila envelope he’s been holding onto the dark oak surface. Dean wanders over to my left and scoots a chair close to mine, grinning from ear to ear. I catch Sam’s confused frown when he states, “We were hoping to pick your brain.”

Geez. Dean’s wearing cologne that smells like sandalwood and vanilla. I tuck my hair behind an ear and adjust my glasses. “Is this about Stockton?”

Sam nods and pulls photos out of the envelope, fanning them over the table. “At first we thought it was just the one fitness center…” Sam began.

I shuffle through indoor security camera photos with my fingers. They are all shots inside gyms and focus on various people working out or mulling around fitness equipment.

“Turns out there are at least a dozen vics that fit the profile... from five different gyms over the past year. Not only in Stockton.” Dean finishes.

I gaze at him for a second and turn back to Sam to regain concentration. “That’s a ton of people regardless. But, why not only in Stockton is that unusual?”

“They are criss crossing and covering a lot of distance without any pattern.” Sam leans in, quieter. “Vamps are kind of lazy. Aside from the occasional road trip, they don’t go very far from their nest to grab dinner.”

“And, they don’t uproot very often, unless they have to.” Dean points at the photo my hand has settled on. He brushes the back of his hand against my fingers. “There has to be another connection. We can’t figure out what it is. Thoughts, Winter?” His smooth voice drifts into my ear.

I clear my throat. “Not sure. Can you guys give me a few minutes?”

“Sure. We appreciate any time you can spare. Dean?” Sam cocks his head and points behind him, a little irritated, and stands.

Dean sighs at his brother with a slight eye roll. He rises out of his seat and flashes me a smile, then winks when Sam’s back is turned.

I shake my head and smile at his flirty behavior, then focus on the pictures. CSI, I’m not. My heart drops and I frown, realizing these people are no longer running on treadmills or pumping iron. They were all various shapes and sizes. Some were extremely fit. Some were probably starting their weight loss journey. But, now, they’re all dead.

I do my reorganizing and stacking of the pictures on autopilot based on the date and time stamps. Then, I flip through them one by one and focus. My eyes narrow at the t-shirt one of the victims is wearing and read the slogan. Take A Load Off. There’s something local and familiar about that, aside from the obvious. I’ve seen it advertised. Somewhere.

“I can’t believe you, Dean.” Sam is muttering under his breath on the other side of an aisle three rows over. Sam’s back is to me. He’s so tall and obscures most of his brother from my view. I can only spot Dean’s forehead and spiky hair over a shoulder.

These boys don’t realize how fine tuned your hearing gets working at a place this quiet. I shift in my seat. If I can hear them… I look up and over my shoulder to check if Ronald is nearby. He’s nowhere in my line of sight. But that still doesn’t ease my anxiety.

“What?” Dean’s low voice travels even better.

“You slept with her.”

“Huh?”

“Winter.”

Dean sighs.

“What happened to ‘just buying her dinner to thank her’?” Sam air quotes.

“I was extremely thankful.” Dean chuckles.

My lids close tight. I’m a bit mortified listening to this discussion. Dread that my coworkers are going to find out flips my stomach.

“I can’t believe you.” Sam repeats.

“Chill, Sammy. Christ. I like her, okay. This is not a one and done.”

I smile.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t fuck it up.” Sam sighs.

Everything clicks. My brain connects the dots. The distraction of their talk about my virtue and Dean’s soiling of it has been enough to dislodge the info I was trying to pull forth. I snatch up the picture and rush over to the brothers. Sam can’t make eye contact with me at first. Dean’s eyes widen and he smiles at the way I’m tapping on the photo. “Take a Load Off.” My excitement is even apparent in my hurried voice.

Dean studies the picture. “What about it?”

“It’s a slogan for a weight loss group in Stockton. They’re called Scale Warriors.”

The brother’s raise their eyebrows in unison.

“I bet if you do some more digging, that might be your connection. They might have all been members.”

Dean grins. “You should come by later. Help with the research. Ain’t no party like an MOL party.”

Sam shoots his brother a comical look of disgust. Dean shrugs back at him.

I smile. “I could bring ingredients over for a home cooked meal.”

Sam’s face perks up. “That veggie lasagna you said you’d give me the recipe for?”

I nod. I catch Dean’s now comical look of disgust. “How does a side of meatballs sound?”

His warm smile melts me. “You don’t have to make anything special for me.”

“Mom, here, remember? I have a freezer full of prepared meals on standby to send back with Ricky when he visits.”

He nods. “That sounds awesome, then. Doesn’t it, Sammy?”

“Yeah. I can grab the groceries for the lasagna if you make a list.”

Before I can respond, Dean smacks Sam’s biceps. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll get the list from Winter, grab the photos. Meet you in the car.” His eyes widen and he points his chin to the entrance.

“Sure. See you later.” Sam shoots me a little nod. Dean gets dagger eyes before he strolls off.

As soon as we’re alone, the temperature around Dean and I rises. His grin turns to that serious gaze that has the ability to break me into quivering pieces. We stroll back to the table. I pull my trusty notebook and pen closer to the surface edge and flip to an empty page to write down the lasagna necessities. He mimics my actions, leaning down over the table to stuff photos into the envelope. 

He’s unusually quiet. I hear his heavy breathing. It throws off my focus but I manage to recall everything over the couple minutes. The tear of the sheet from the notebook breaks the silence. I present the note to him between two clasped fingers. He makes a point to slide his fingers over mine during the exchange. He tucks it into the envelope for safekeeping and fastens the clasp.

Dean dips down, his lips near my ear. “Got somewhere we can be alone for a few minutes?” The husky voice escapes his mouth along with heated breath.

I pull back to gauge his expression. And, oh my, he’s ready to pounce. Like now.

My mouth is dry at the attempt to swallow down a gasp. I nod, grab his hand, check for any interested co-workers, then lead the way. Blood is pumping to my heart a mile a minute. This is very unprofessional behavior, taking library patrons into a storage closet marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. I could get in a lot of trouble. But, right now, I welcome the trouble named Dean Winchester.

I flick the overhead lightbulb on with a string pull. Filing cabinets and steel shelving with meticulous labeled boxes surround us. I turn in time to catch him tossing the envelope on a shelf. He licks his lips and marches toward me. All business in that suit. A couple feet close the distance. He backs me into a cool cinder block wall.

“I missed you, Winter.” He smiles and leans down. That forceful mouth dominates mine. His inhale pulls a moan out from the base of my throat. I grapple onto his neck. The cords of muscle under his skin tighten and release. “Stay the night tonight.” He whispers into my open mouth.

“You sure?” I whisper back.

“Yeah.”

I nod, bumping into his nose. He chuckles and tucks a large hand under my cardigan and over my cotton blouse. Fingers massage and cup one breast. “How are you going to expect me to focus on work the rest of the afternoon?” I groan.

His mouth nibbles and gnaws at the base of my neck. “I’m not going to be the only one that has to suffer, thinking about all the things I want to do to you.” Before I realize it, those fingers have unbuttoned my blouse and delved under the fabric of my bra. He finds the prize he’s in search of and pinches. “Hm. So much I still want to do with you. To you.” Hot breath encircles my ear. “Hell, I’ll even eat veggie lasagna if it means I can eat you out for dessert.”

I chuckle and moan at the same time. He cuts off the tail end of my noises with another hard press of lips against my mouth. Another hand teases the waistband of my black slacks. And, then, suddenly he’s hit the jackpot again, this time under the polyester and cotton. The lack of give in the fabric presses his cupped palm to my heat close and tight. Two fingers open my folds and explore.

He breaks from the kiss, pants and buries his mouth against my neck. “So wet, already? You’re gonna give me a big head.” His erection pokes into my cardigan. I would try and quip something clever back, but he’s done that brain wipe thing again. I hear a seam rip down below. A button from my blouse pops and zings into metal across the room when he parts the fabric to manhandle both my breasts. I’m going to look like a hot mess when he’s done with me. And, I can feel my grin expanding across my face.

The moans in the room are mine and they’re growing louder. A hand clamps over my mouth.

He’s staring down at me. “Shhh.” Rocking into me with various parts of his body. He’s working my engorged clit between two rough fingers. I can only assume he wants this to be over hard and quick by the speed of those digits.

I taste the saltiness of his palm against my open mouth. Sneak a lick with my tongue around one of his fingers. His eyes light up and he pops a finger into my mouth. I suck. Hard. He groans. First at that action, then at my hand that’s found the good sense to stroke him over his pants.

The perfection that is his mouth forms a beautiful O as he watches me. Eyes rake over my body and what he’s doing to it. “Come on, Winter. I ain’t got all day.” He croons out, bold and brazen.

My mouth opens, releases his finger. I moan soft and quiet at the quiver erupting below.

He’s inside now. I can’t figure out how many fingers because, again, brain wipe. But, he hasn’t eased up on my clit, only switched to using his thumb. And, oh, God, he finds that spot. That spot that has eluded the men before him. One final twist of my nipple flips the switch. I’m tight, then exploding. And, I know he feels it. Feels all of it. “That’s it.”

He ruts into my palm for a few seconds after. I recover from the flash of lights but haven’t caught my breath yet.

“That should tide you over until later.” He smiles, all proud and puffed out chest.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a big update, but I haven't forgotten about Winter.

I feel a sense of accomplishment at having successfully stuffed the Winchester brothers.

Earlier in the day, after Dean had his way with me in the storage room, the preparation for my bunker sleepover when I’d gotten home from work had sent my head swimming. An ocean of thoughts filled my mind, pulled me back and forth by an unpredictable tide. My body tingled with excitement. Phantom flicks and fucks by Dean’s fingers were partially to blame. 

I packed a few necessities and change of clothes into one of my huge purses. I grabbed Tupperware containing a dozen meatballs out of the freezer and a carton of spaghetti from the pantry. In case the veggie lasagna turned out horrid. And because I wanted to make Dean happy.

That thought stopped me in my tracks in the middle of my kitchen.

I wondered what made him happy. Truly happy. That easy going smile covered up much. That was not a huge leap of ascertainment. I had figured that out early on. Usually, those who made it seem like nothing bothers them were the ones holding on to a ton of grievances in secret. Like a dragon sitting in the darkness with golden treasure. Hoarding, heating, hiding. Whether they put it upon themselves or had it thrust upon them.

Aside from that easy going smile and his ability to stutter me into silence with a mere glance, I think that’s another reason I was so attracted to this man from the start. 

He tried as hard as I did to make it seem like everything was fine. Deep down. Until maybe even he believed it. Like I did.

Now, hours later, I know for certain I made Dean Winchester happy. Not truly happy, but I’ll take what I can get. He’s refused my attempt at actually cleaning the baking pan or pots or the rest of the dishes after dinner. He’s rolled up the sleeves of a burgundy button up to his elbows. His hands are up to his wrists in sudsy water in the stainless steel sink in the bunker’s kitchen. A tiny apron tied around his waist is doing little to protect him from the splashes and potential food stains. He scrubs and hums. Then, he bellows. “Sammy! These dishes ain’t gonna dry themselves!”

He somehow knows I have risen an inch from the bench at the kitchen table, ready to grab a towel and assist.

“Stay right there, Winter.” He doesn’t turn his head to look at me. His voice freezes me in place. I shiver at the soft force behind his words. I marvel at the width of his back and the sturdiness of his shoulders. My cheeks warm at the ache he causes deep inside.

Sam marches in, laptop perched onto a forearm as a finger glides over the trackpad. “I was checking on the next time Scale Warriors is having a group meeting. Figure that’s the best time for us to go.” He places the computer on the kitchen table, shoots me a quick smile in passing, then darts around the steel counter to begin the job of drying.

“After this meal, I’ll have a few pounds to lose.” Dean chuckles.

The way Dean eats has me wondering if he might have a tapeworm or a metabolism comparative to a hummingbird’s. Because the body I saw the other night is not humanly possible from the way he eats. 

It’s within the realm of possibility that Dean is, in fact, not human. Wouldn’t be the craziest thing I’ve learned over the course of this past week. And, yet, here I sit not the least bit in a hurry to run out of the bunker screaming.

I swing a leg out and sit astride the bench. “You two are kidding, right?” I ask.

Dean and Sam look over at me. The water runs. Dean holds a scouring pad. A towel wraps up a plate in Sam’s enormous hands.

“You are not going to fit in at one of those meetings.”

They eye each other up and down. Sam speaks first. “She’s probably right. I mean, Dean, you might…”

Dean stares at Sam with a death glare.

“Either one of you will draw too much attention.” I offer Sam some assistance.

Dean shoots me a smile before he returns to washing and mumbles to Sam. I make out the tail end… “joined that chastity group.”

“What if I went?”

The water turns off at my question. Dean rotates, in slow motion. His eyes sear into me. I hear a throat clear. It’s Sam.

“What?” He asks.

I shrug. “What if I went? Scope out the group? I fit the most common demographic. No one would suspect a thing.”

Dean is about to open his mouth when Sam pipes up, “She’s got a point.”

It’s Sam’s turn to feel the wrath of Dean’s gaze. “We’re not using her as bait.”

I straighten. “Who said anything about bait?”

“You’re as green as Kentucky bluegrass, Winter. What else would you be but bait for Count Dracula?” He turns back to the sink. “Discussion done.” The water starts up. He points to Sam. “Dry.”

I’ve made Dean unhappy. And, yet, that doesn’t stop me from continuing the discussion, even if it’s just with myself. I make a point of throwing my voice louder over the rush of water. “By green you mean not well-versed in monster lore or weight loss? Or both?”

Dean scrubs with a ferocity that shakes his entire right arm. Sam shifts from one foot to another. He looks mildly amused as he stacks dried items on the counter.

“I’m a great observer. I take copious mental notes. And, I can take care of myself. Condescending for you to immediately think of me as bait.”

Dean’s hands flop into the water. “I’m not being condescending.” A deep inhale makes his shoulders arch back and his head tip up. “It’s not safe, that’s all. Better you keep that cute little nose stuck in a book than stick your pretty little neck out for us.” He’s back to washing.

His stabs at flattery quiet me. But only for a second. “Well, the offer stands… if you change your mind.” I rise from the bench. “Speaking of books. Sam, would it be alright if I explored the library? Since I’m not needed here at the moment.”

“Course.” He smiles.

I catch Dean’s profile lean in my direction as I leave the kitchen. His jaw is clenched. He looks pissed. And fucking sexy as hell.

Goddammit.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is staying safe after the holidays! This inspiration took a little longer than I hoped. Maybe it will make the start of your week a little brighter and saucier, Dear Reader. Enjoy.

Dean has a rival for my attention. It’s the Men of Letters library.

The stack of vampiric volumes I’m interested in has grown on one of the library tables. I appreciated the digital facts and figures Sam had sent over for me to digest days ago. But the tactile feel of delicate and dried paper in a century old book cannot be replicated by a downloaded attachment. 

The creak of a worn spine sounds like the hair of a bow sweeping along violin strings. I dance the pads of my fingers along a cover’s embossing. I’m down and up and down and up again, traveling from seat to shelf, trading one partner for another, unable to choose which one I want to spend more time with.

I’m burrowed in the details of fang mechanics when the throat clearing turns my head from the pages.

Dean steps into the library. His apron’s gone. I marvel at the cowboy stride with those bow legs you could toss a football through. As good as he looks in a suit - authoritatively and administratively arousing - there’s something magical about how effortlessly he embodies handsome in denim and flannel. 

I remind myself I’ve had sex with this man. And if I’m on good behavior I’ll have sex with him again soon.

He drags a finger along another table on his way toward me. “Hiding from me?” His brow cocks.

I wonder if a little bad behavior might get me closer to the goalpost. “Not hiding if I told you where I was going to be.”

“Hm.” He purses his lips. He pauses at the side of the table I’ve claimed and stands caddy-corner from my seated frame. Both of his hands grip the edge and lean over the surface. I get the feeling he’s holding back from saying something sassy in return; channeling the glib into energy spurring his fingers into motion.

I decide to push for the hell of it. After all, he drove me crazy with those fingers earlier today. And he was the one that urged me to stay the night. I stare up at that face that has launched many lascivious thoughts. “You know, just taking your suggestion and sticking my nose in a book.” 

His lids widen at the sarcasm. He nods to the pile. “Many books. Plannin’ on reading the entire library tonight?”

“Maybe. Since I can’t be trusted to be around a vampire, this is the closest I’ll get.” I break eye contact and go back to examining the dental diagram.

He sighs. His body readjusts to sit on the edge of the table. One denim covered ass cheek and muscled thigh is inches away from my hand. I feel the itch under my skin to stroke any part of him within easy reach. “I never said you couldn’t be trusted.”

“You called me green.”

“Because you are.”

I tilt my head back up. He’s grinning at me.

Sexy bastard is getting a kick out of this.

“I’ll have you know I’m pretty darn ripe.” My statement garners a confused expression from him. Goddammit. That vacant, lost look is even arousing. How? Those things should inherently not go together. I line up my thoughts to clarify, though part of me wants to explore that Little Boy Lost act of his longer. “Ripe in terms of maturity and experience. I’m all red.” That gets a chuckle. “Green is not my color,” I add. “Hasn’t been for a long time.” Well, except for Dean’s green eyes.

“Oh, really? When’s the last time you decapitated a vamp?”

He’s got me there.

“Winter, I don’t want to put you in harm’s way. You helping us runs the risk of that.” His palm rests on my wrist. “Last thing I want to do is hurt Ricky’s mom.”

I blink a few times and tingle at his touch. “You haven’t even met Ricky.”

“Exactly. First time shouldn’t be in an ER or…” His voice trails off. He’s squeezing my wrist now. “You’re important to a lot of people. Silly for you to get involved in something like this.”

“All of those people murdered were all important to a lot of people. Isn’t that why you do what you do? To stop it from happening to anyone else?”

“Yes. That’s why I do it. That’s why Sam does it. Not you.”

In that moment, he embodies my long lost husband. Rick the hero. It’s that similarity that had me pine more for him, in addition to the obvious laws of attraction. I remember my brother Tommy’s tale, years ago. How Sam and Dean had saved his baby girl, Talia. She’d only been five at the time. 

The Winchester brothers hadn’t even gotten their foot in the front door of Tommy’s newly bought house when they’d heard the screams from the ramshackle shed. Before Tommy knew what was happening, the brothers ran to the cries in the backyard. 

Dean peered through the grimy window, slammed his body into the door once, then yelled for the little girl inside to close her eyes and get against the wall. The shed door splintered on its hinges and gave in on his second try. He rushed in. Sam followed with iron rebar in his clutches. Dean emerged from the darkness with Talia in his arms.

They’d taken care of the death echo a couple hours later all those years ago. And I would have bought Dean all the scotch he wanted in thanks that night for saving my niece and digging my brother out of potential monetary ruin.

I now wish I hadn’t been so gun shy after Lou back then. It had been a year since the divorce. I wish I’d seen that Dean’s usual flirting had meant something more. I could have had years of this man by now. Or, perhaps we’d have fizzled out like a faulty match back then.

Maybe everything happens for a reason. And maybe that’s why I’m staring up at this beautiful man now, lost in my own thoughts. Trying to reconcile all these facets of him that I don’t quite know yet. Excited to find out how each one sparkles and shines when the light catches them, exposing his brilliance to me.

“You still with me, Winter?” A soft smile follows his question.

My brain slams back into the present conversation and I nod. “You heard Sam earlier. Whoever’s doing this seems to have a routine feeding pattern. The bodies of the victims have been found, dumped, about three weeks after they go missing. And, then, another one goes poof about a week later.” I close the book I’ve been reading. “A body turned up three days ago. You’ve got a few days, tops, before someone else gets turned into vampire takeout.”

Dean’s face turns to steel.

“Dean, I can be useful.”

He shakes his head. But I can tell it’s not for me this time. “This kind of shit shouldn’t be happening right under our noses. So close to home. We’ve been distracted by some bigger baddies. But that’s no excuse to have missed this.”

“Hey.” I bring my other hand to rest on his, sandwiching his warm skin between mine. “You can’t do it all. No one can.” I learned that trying to be everything for Ricky. “You need support. And you need to be willing to ask for it.”

“Winter, what happened to just having a little fun?” He smirks.

“You two were the ones that asked for my help to begin with on this thing. All your fault.” I smile.

“Eh, it was Sam’s idea to get your input. Remind me to smack him later.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What if you smack  _ me _ later instead?”

He grins. “You into a little kink, Samantha?”

I gasp. “First name?”

“Trying it out.” He shrugs. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m not. You seem like you might need to blow off some steam, is all. All that angry dishwashing earlier and now the smack talk.”

A sigh escapes those perfect lips. He stands up and slides his hand out of mine. “Do you want the full tour? Then we have a little fun?”

“Yes, please, to both.”

“After you.” He waves a hand in the hall direction.

I get up from my seat. As soon as I’m two steps in front of him I feel the stinging  _ thwack _ of his solid palm on my ass cheek.

Heat rises to my face. I turn to see a naughty grin. “Just taking your suggestion.” 

* 

The tour ends in his bedroom. My bag rests on a chair with worn spindles by a tiny desk. I’m delighted that he didn’t even bother to ask if I’d want to stay in the dozen other bedrooms in this fortress. The thought that he invited me in to share his space quickens my pulse. Again, I feel like a sixteen-year-old with this man.

I’ve gotten an eyeful and narrated history on this tour. Dean’s pointed at inventions by the original Men of Letters, laced with witchcraft spells or god-level power, like a bored tour guide at the local history museum in Topeka. The bunker is an amazing marvel of decades-old technology. Most of it’s been tweaked and finessed into the 21st century by an IT wonder woman named Charlie Bradbury. Her name rolls off Dean’s tongue. But as soon as it's released I see his face ripple. Willing back a mix of emotions looks like it pains him. 

He reverts course. Talks about the duty of the men that stationed themselves in this place so long ago. A wealth of knowledge stored and protected here, meant to keep the world safe from monsters by a secret society. The Winchesters are legacies, carrying on the mission of the Men of Letters. Aided by a network of hunters across the country. There are others like them all over the world. But I get a sneaking suspicion the Winchester brothers aren’t only legacies. I think they may be legendary.

And this legendary Winchester has been teasing and flirting during the entire tour. He encouraged me to sit on one of the motorcycles in the enormous underground garage - that has its own bat cave entrance - only to slide into the seat behind me, scooting my body forward. 

The warmth of his chest presses against my back, through his flannel and my tunic. Hands run over mine to grip the chrome handles. And it took him quite a long time to situate, with a tremendous amount of rutting in between the cheeks of my ass. Low, intent whispers tickle my ear. He can’t wait to take me for a ride again. He chuckles, delighted at his innuendo. His voice ticks off all the cars and their specs on either side of us, discussing how fun it would be to take me for a ride in each of them. The exact type of ride is left up to my imagination.

But, somehow he held back in the garage only to start up again in the shooting range. The narrow room contained grey walls and three lanes of target practice. I reminded him that I’d been taught to shoot by my Dad back when I was twelve. His brow shot up. He pulled a gun out of one of the wall cases and offered it. Wanted to see what I could do. 

I made the very adult observation that ear protection would be needed in the enclosed space. He sighed with a curvy smile that showed off his pearly whites and found a pair of mufflers for us.

I take my time to align my focus down the sight, then pump the trigger. I fire off four rounds, pretty certain of the result even before the last one left the chamber. I drop the gun to my side and thumb the safety. 

Dean whistles. The sound echoes into my right ear canal. “Damn, Winter.” His palms stroke my hips as he leans into me again from behind. “Nice work.” I gasp at the growing erection nudging into the base of my spine.

But, somehow he held back in the shooting range. With the promise of showing me their dungeon another time, he led the way to the residential halls.

And now we’re in his bedroom. Well, I am at least. He opened the door and ushers with a tip of his hand for me to step inside. He leans against the door frame. And gives me time. 

The room is functional; mere brick and concrete walls with none of the decorative gilding and austerity of the library and other areas of the bunker. There are guns within easy reach on the walls, even above the wooden headboard. A dresser and some nightstands with drawers to hide things away are close to the bed. A television and record player provides entertainment. There’s even a sink and mirror to freshen up and make one presentable. Like Dean needs anything to make him presentable. All the necessities a hunter needs apparently.

Dean does not seem to be one for excess. Well, except for food that will clog arteries. I notice a stash of candy and alcohol on a small side table with another chair by the door. At least now I know they have a gym here, where Dean does spend time exercising. That explains the amazing physique despite the horrid diet.

My gaze rakes over the room for a long time, taking in little details. The made bed that meets military standards. Yep, he definitely likes licorice. Under a pile of file folders peeks the cover of what I think is a porn mag. With a title that begins with “Busty” what else could it be?

The room smells of him. There’s layers of various colognes, greasy food, apples, cinnamon, sweat, gunpowder, leather, whiskey, beer, arousal. It’s all of him. Concentrated and contained in these four walls.

I think I might like to stay in here, with him, for an indefinite period of time. 

The door creaks shut. I hear the footfalls of boots behind me.

I think I might get my wish.

“It’s not as warm and cozy as your place.”

I glance over my shoulder. “If you behave yourself, maybe I’ll invite you over so you can confirm that.”

Crossed arms make his biceps pop out on full display. “Guess I’m not getting an invite then.” He licks his lips. “Cause I have no intention of behaving.”

I turn to face him. I can do this, I rationalize in my head. I can stand my ground with this man. I cross my arms in return.

His arms drop, fists clench at his sides. Veins rise to the surface on his forearms. The sleeves are still rolled up from his dishwashing earlier. “About a dozen times tonight, I kept thinking you’d spin on your heels and I’d see that sweet ass run as far away from me as possible.”

“I could have done that the first time I visited. Or when you told me there were vampires. Or when I learned that ghosts were real.”

He shakes his head and relaxes, palms rubbing his thighs now. A smile dances over his lips. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Winter?”

“Loaded question. That would need all the whiskey to explain.” 

He’s quick. Before I can process it, his whole entire body has invaded my personal space. He wraps me up in those safe arms, palms molded along the curves of my ass. “I’ve got a lot of whiskey.” I smell the beer on his breath.

“You.” His eyes widen at the one word leaving my mouth. I sigh. “Simple answer. You are what the hell is wrong with me, Winchester.”

I can tell he’s delighted by my response. That cocky smile returns. Then, his face dips and he traces kisses down my neck. I’ve gotta hold onto something or I’m going to melt onto the floor. The short strands of hair atop his head are the first thing I think of to grab. He growls into my skin. His fingers pull at the long tunic. It’s almost as if he’s helping to hold me up, grabbing handfuls of my backside covered in tight black leggings. That’s what I think, at first. Until I feel a stinging smack of his hand making contact with a cheek.

Goddammit. I gasp at the strength and the thrill.

“You’re too sweet to punish.” He’s massaging the spot now, mumbling into my collarbone. “Unless that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

“I-I haven’t…”

His mouth cuts off my statement. Bruising kisses tip my head back, put me even more off balance. He just knows. I know he knows. No one’s ever even tried that kind of stuff with me before. He gasps out of a kiss, staring me down. “You’re gonna make me think that’s what you want, pulling my hair out by the roots.”

I realize I’ve locked onto his head like it’s the safety bar on a roller coaster ride. I’m warm all over, but he’s hotter than anything I’ve felt in a long time. “Sorry.” I relax my hold and shimmy my hands down to his shoulders.

The tip of his nose bumps mine. “It’s alright. A little pain with pleasure is never bad. But, I like to avoid bodily injury, if possible.”

The giggle coming out of me sounds like a teenager. He engulfs the sounds with his mouth again, overpowering with soft moans that shoot pulses straight to the core of my arousal.

He’s tugging with persistence at the fabric of my top, meeting resistance. I lift up my arms over my head and he’s whipped it off in a flash. Kisses and more kisses. He works the buttons of his shirt. His knuckles brush along my skin, the cups of my bra, the tummy I wish was more toned. I open my eyes and watch him shed the layer over those massive shoulders, letting me revel in the sight of his chest. Not as long as I’d like before he’s unclasped my bra and pulled it off.

The way his eyes take me in and light up might be one of my favorite things.

He twirls me. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, bow legs wide so I slot in between as I stand. Staring up at me again. “Up.” An encouraging hand behind my knee ushers me to climb onto his lap. First one leg, then another, to sit astride those thighs. An arm wraps around, a sure clasp at the side of my waist.

Then that mouth starts doing obscene things. The tongue flicks with precision at my nipple. I’m biting back moans at the nips and bites, at how diligent and hell bent he is to suckle me into unconsciousness. And when his hand starts to work my other breast at the same time, I’ve legit forgotten my own name for a few seconds.

His lashes, long enough to bat against my skin, flutter in response to the gasps and groans he pulls from me. And when his own moans ripple along the wet trail of flesh, I hold him closer. I’m careful this time and latch onto his neck instead. I’m on autopilot and grind into the hard bulge covered in denim. The stiff seam works into the folds and I have it hit the spot that makes me jerk in delight.

I’m in no hurry to have him stop. I don’t know how long he lavishes my breast with attention before a hand sneaks under the waistband of my leggings. The burn of my thighs straddling him and the muscle aches in my near future are small prices to pay to hear him rasp out, “God, so fucking wet,” into my skin.

A high-pitched noise I didn’t know I was capable of making eeks out of my throat when he slides two fingers inside and continues to suck. His thumb finds my clit and he’s replaying what he knows worked in the storage closet that afternoon. But it’s slower this time. Making me build up toward an eruption. 

I do my best to center and focus and enjoy all that he’s doing. I grin with pride when the kegels I’m doing around his fingers make him pop my tit out of his mouth to stare up at me. “Gonna do that when my cock is in you?” He grins back.

“I’ll give it the old college try.”

He groans, pulls out those fingers, then wrestles me onto the mattress. My back flops onto the soft give. His body slinks back to standing and peels my leggings and underwear and socks off with his retreat.

He’s come prepared and snatches a condom out of his jean pocket. I’m up on elbows to watch the show, blissfully unaware at how on display I am for him. Thumps from discarded boots and a swish of denim and the man is naked and gloriously erect. “Goddammit.” I blurt out.

He chuckles and gets the latex over his cock, then crawls back over me. My legs open in acceptance, relishing the weight nestled against my hips. He’s there. So very close. His gaze travels over my face, eventually locking eyes with me.

He’s careful, resting on forearms, so he doesn’t suffocate me with his body. But I don’t think I’d mind leaving this world that way to be honest. I’m gliding my fingers along the crease of his spine, inching my way up to eventually rest on his shoulder blades. The undulations of muscle and his temperature could lull me to sleep under other circumstances.

He wiggles and searches, presses and prods, not using his hand to guide himself in. Taking his time. He fumbles a few times and “Oopsies” when he comes close to another entrance I am certainly not ready to try. At least not tonight. But then, he’s found it, and forces the tip inside. And, it doesn’t take long for him to slide home with how ready he has me.

The headboard starts a steady, slow, rhythmic knocking against the wall.

Dean grins. “Gonna be a long night, Winter.” 


	10. Chapter 10

I could get used to this chest.

I didn’t have the chance to indulge in resting on it for very long the first time we had sex. The afterglow had been disrupted by a call from Sam that night at the motel.

But now, now I’m tracing the curves and indentations of his rose gold form with the pads of my fingers. My body presses into the flesh, buoyed up by his deep inhales and the swell of pectoral muscles. My cheek rests on a tribal like tattoo that has some obvious religious meaning. I’ll ask him when he wakes up.

Truth is, I want to find any excuse to listen to that voice when I’m wrapped up in him. Its deep vibration against my skin makes my body ache. I want to find a way to crawl inside him and be enveloped by the waves of that voice.

Of course, every part of my body is pulsing and pleasantly aching from him. His light snores woke me from a not so restful sleep. The twitches of his fingers clutching at my forearm kept pulling me out of my slumber. 

It’s been years since I’ve shared a bed and slept with someone. I can’t tell what time it is from the lack of windows in this room that reminds me more and more of an underground cell.

One thing Dean was right about - it’s been a long night.

He’d pushed and cajoled me to the brink and eased off on the gas countless times. This man has some unbelievable stamina. I’m again rethinking that he may not be entirely human.

He does this thing with his hips. He rotates and wiggles and pushes in deep. So deep. Slow. Deliberate. He found a spot that made me curse and grab fistfuls of sheets. He found it again. And again.

He grinned at me like a schoolboy. The kind of schoolboy that would’ve tugged on my ponytail just to get a reaction. Any reaction.

He finally made me come. Had me begging for it. Then, he teased, heavy breathing and winded. He asked if my geriatric ass would be able to ride him, take him for a spin, and show him how the older, wiser generation used to do things. 

Goddammit.

It’s one thing to be under Dean Winchester. It’s a whole other rodeo having him under me. Literally.

His fingers clutch at me a little tighter. I realize the snores have stopped. “You awake, Winter?” He whispers.

“Yeah.”

“Need something? Water? Pee break?” He chuckles. “I can show you where the bathroom is again if you don’t quite have your bearings yet.”

I laugh back. “Maybe in a bit.” I want to listen to that voice some more. So close. Rumbling into my flesh. I tap on his chest near my cheek. “What’s this all about?”

“Hm?” It takes him a second. “Oh. Anti-possession tattoo. Protection against demons.”

“Oh, right, silly me for not knowing that.”

“I keep forgetting you don’t have all this knowledge filed away in that memory bank of yours.” His lips sweep over the top of my head, against my hair. I feel his nose press into the crown and inhale.

“Would be nice to have a download and install option for all that stuff.”

His lips are curling up now into a smile. I can feel that, too. “Might be able to arrange something. Cas could assist.”

Ah, so there’s more to Cas, too? “How about we leave that on the table for another time?”

“Absolutely.”

“What time is it?”

He’s shifting under me. “Ah, five, I think.”

I sigh. “Work day for me, Winchester. I should probably get up soon.”

His arms hold me tighter. “What if I don’t want you to?”

“You’ll be the one that has to explain to my boss why I won’t be in, then.”

“Would have no problem with that.”

I realize the truth to those words. I’m not ready to have my co-workers gossiping about us. “Don’t you have plans to make? Vamp stakeout today, right?” I lean up and make the mistake of looking into those eyes. A yellow halo of light from the nightstand lamp captures every facet of his face. His heavy lids bat at me slow. Those flirty light brown lashes curl and cajole with a wispy come hither. I falter, forgetting what I was going on about.

He tilts his head and studies me. “Yeah. Sam said there’s a group meeting tonight at Scale Warriors. You gonna be available to go? Starts at 6:30.”

“What?”

He pulls up to a sitting position, dragging me along with him to rest on his side. There’s a long sigh. Fingers tug my chin up to look at him again. “You were right.”

I’m smiling at how difficult it is for him to state those three words.

“Don’t get smug about it.” He releases another sigh. “You’re fully capable of taking care of yourself.” He lifts a finger. “As long as you realize Sam and I will be nearby, watching your every move. So, no funny business or going off script. Understand?”

My heart is racing, full of adrenaline. This is. This is awesome. “Yep.”

My heart races again. This time it’s the feel of his hands cupping my jaw, pulling me up to taste those lips. He breathes words into my mouth between kisses. “I mean it. You’ve gotta follow what I tell you, down to the letter. Got me?”

“Mh-hmm.” I respond. His tongue dips in to explore.

“First order of business.” He pulls back to stare at me. “You’re gonna be late for work.”


	11. Chapter 11

Don’t tell my boss. But I really didn’t have a family emergency. I crossed my fingers as I lied to Cindy on the phone. I bit my lip as she hoped everything was alright with Ricky while Dean nibbled on my neck.

This man could talk me into doing just about anything. I think he knows it.

I’m in a lot of trouble.

He grabs the phone from my hand after I hang up. Places the device carefully on a table top well out of my reach. “There. See how easy that was?” He’s leering over me, smiling.

“Lying comes easy to you, does it?” I sigh in wait. My gaze lingers. The concave chest is carved like a jutting rock cliff high above me. His pecs are bunched together and his biceps are taut and firm. I want to squeeze all of him. But I behave myself.

He shrugs. “Has to with the job.” One of his fingers slips into the sheet folds I’ve modestly used to cover my own chest. He seems content brushing against the breast bone. For now. “Not many people want to admit to all the nasty stuff under the surface. Gotta gloss things over to get to the truth.”

I nod. “So, what are your plans for me tonight?”

He smiles. I’m pushing him into the easiest of comebacks. He knows it. “We’ve got time for work talk later. Let’s focus on my plans for you right now.”

*

My jeep bounces along the brick paving the four lanes of the main highway that cuts into Stockton. I pull into a primo spot in front of “Scale Warriors”. The kitschy cartoon sign - a weight scale strangled into an hourglass shape with a tape measure - hangs off the side of the nondescript exterior of a building. 

The picture window is plastered with posters and promotions. I can tell the lights are on but can’t see anything much inside. I question the motives of the franchise owners renting space right next to the Home Town Cafe on the corner of Main and South Walnut Street. But, then I spot a sign for a Physical Therapist on the other side of the weight-loss center and give them a temporary pass.

It’s 6:00 pm and the street lights flicker as darkness overpowers the sky. I hate when Daylight Savings Time ends. There’s not much time to stay grumpy when I catch Dean pulling into a spot on the other side of Main Street. That Impala is almost as sexy as he is. The black, sleek paint shimmers under a yellow lamp. The color, the way the car catches the light reminds me of something. It takes me a second to connect the dots. It shines like the marcasite bracelet that belonged to my grandmother that I cherish. The art deco style is even reminiscent of the bunker. Maybe I’ll wear it the next time I’m out on a date with Dean.

Date. Oh God. What decade is this? And why am I thinking about a date with this man when I’m about to walk into an all you can eat buffet for a suspected vampire nest?

I lock eyes with him across the four lanes, cars rolling between and blurring our connection. Even in the dark interior of his car and through a window, I feel those eyes burning. My thighs clench along with my core. I feel the seer and remember him. Inside.

It hasn’t been that long since he released me from his clutches. We spent a couple hours in bed after I was easily coerced into playing hooky. Then, he relented. Allowed me to shower alone after some debate - solely with himself - that he could join me. But, then, he concluded, neither one of us would get clean. I would not have minded. 

After making myself presentable, I ate leftovers in the kitchen with him and his brother and discussed the plan they had concocted. In detail. 

I waited in the library and read while I was made some fake identification, then sent home by mid afternoon. Ordered by Dean to get ready and not wear anything too sexy that would make me stand out. Told that would be impossible for me, but that I should try. Sent on my way with a kiss for luck and a smack on my ass. That confident smile he shot me, along with a goodbye, told me there was more where that came from.

Again, I would not have minded in the least. 

I catch the upturn of his cocky grin when he rolls down the window. That mouth had me emitting noises I didn’t even know were possible this morning.

Yeah, that’s why I’m thinking about all that.

My phone rings. I’m privy to the end of a conversation he’s having with Sam as I pick up. “Heh.” His gaze has turned to the Bait and Tackle shop he’s parked in front of to his right. “Check it out, Sammy. Sign says ‘Live Nude Fishbait’.” He chuckles.

“Dude, how old are you?” I can hear the depth of Sam’s tired sigh.

“We don’t all have a stick up our ass twenty-four seven.” Dean replies. I wait for the moment when he realizes I’m on the other line. His head turns back and he nods in my general direction. “Winter?”

“Yep.”

“How you doin’?”

“Good.” The waver in my voice makes a liar out of me.

“Sure?”

“I said I was good.”

“Okay, putting you on speaker.” There’s a second or two before he’s back. “Alright, so let’s go over exactly what you need to do…”

Sam pipes in. I can’t make him out clearly in the shadow of the passenger seat. The outline of his large body is moving and animated. “You’re going to sign up for a membership, use the ID Dean made you.” My mouth purses tight. I have questions about my ID and the credit card Dean slipped me, without Sam seeing. I’ll wait.

Dean picks up the conversation. “Remember, I’m going in first… maybe get someone on edge… crack a veneer or two. And you?”

“I’m the middle aged woman looking to drop a few pounds and get back in the dating scene.”

“If you see anybody you know…” Sam begins.

“High tail it out of there.” I finish for him, with a huff and a frown.

Dean nods. “Exactly. No waiting around. Otherwise, you sit in on the meeting and see what you can turn up for us. I’ll try and hang out as long as I can.”

“It’s getting close to meeting time. I’m gonna go take a walk, there’s that restaurant down the street we thought might be a lead, too.” Sam mumbles something to Dean. “Gonna be great, Winter.” The car door squeaks and Sam’s tall frame emerges onto the street. He taps the hood of the Impala and buttons his blazer before heading to the Italian place where one of the victims worked.

Whoever said the suit makes the man never saw a Winchester wear one.

“You’re worried.” Dean’s off speaker, holding the phone close to his ear and surveying the area around the car, peeking at his rear and side view mirror.

“I’m not.”

“You’re not the best liar, sweetheart. Maybe this won’t work.” He sighs, not making eye contact. “How about I just go in and do my thing?”

“Worried and nervous might work in my favor. Besides, I really wouldn’t be lying. I could stand to lose some weight…”

He scoffs. “Please. Those curves of yours don’t need to go anywhere.” He’s smiling but still not making eye contact. Busy on work detail, he’s bent down and angled over the passenger side. It looks like he’s rummaging through his glove box. “Are you thinking of getting back in the dating scene? You make that announcement and I’m gonna have a ton of competition.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He sits up and connects his gaze with me for a second. “You think that, but you’d be wrong.” He shifts in his seat. “What other questions you got before I head in?”

“How do you sneak up on anybody in that car?”

“Vewy Cawfully.” The man does a spot on Elmer Fudd impersonation.

I laugh and try to regain my composure for the next question. “Oh, this ID you made?”

He’s all grin now. I can see the white of his teeth lanes away.

“Really, Dean?”

“Easy change when I copied your license. How could I resist? Plus, you can use Sam’s credit card I swiped out of his wallet if you need to pay for the membership.”

I sigh.

“Even worried, you’re not just going to be great. You’re going to be awesome. Remember, we don’t know each other.”

“Okay.”

“Even though we do. Intimately. In the biblical sense…”

My observations from the past twenty-four hours have concluded that a sexually sated Dean makes for a rather cheeky Dean.

“See you in a bit.” He whispers and hangs up.

I take a deep breath and feel my cheeks tick up when he pops out of the driver’s side. The after sunset sky is a perfect match to the dark blue of Dean’s suit. He eyes the traffic from both sides and times it so he can jaywalk with confidence. Right past the hood of my car. He gives me a friendly nod and a wink, then disappears into Scale Warriors.

I follow the plan and give him exactly two minutes.

*

An electric chime signals my entrance. The waiting area and counter are cool white. Pops of blue and red letters are decaled on the wall with positive mantras. A male staff person in a red polo shirt, with tight brassy red curls and orange freckles, is behind the counter. He looks concerned as he talks to Dean.

Oh, I’m sorry. Not Dean.

“Agent Sambora, I’d be happy to give you the information you’re asking for… but, it’s against our privacy policy to…”

“Jerry, right?” Dean waves a finger at the man’s name tag. The man doesn’t look much older than my Ricky. The idea that he could be a vampire makes my stomach flip. “Is it your policy to assist in obstruction?”

“No-no, sir.”

“I don’t necessarily need to look at your files. If you answer some questions, based on your own personal knowledge, that’d be very helpful.” Dean leans on the counter. He’s doing a damn good job with the imposing and low-key threatening. Is it wrong that I’m finding that incredibly sexy? He gives me a side glance, acknowledging my presence even if Jerry hasn’t. He focuses on the employee again. His voice is lower this time. “Much easier than me having to take you in for questioning.”

“I-I…”

Dean taps a hand onto the Formica to snap Jerry out of his stammer. “I’ll be over here while you take care of this lovely customer.” He stands up and waves a hand at me with a killer smile. “He’s all yours, miss.” He nods and darts over to one of the plastic seats.

Oh man. I get a whiff of his killer cologne and purse my lips tight.

Jerry’s sweating. I might be sweating, too. The room feels unusually cool. “Welcome to Scale Warriors. The allies in your weight loss battle.” He squeaks out the sales pitch. “I’m Jerry. How can I help you on your journey today?”

“Hi.” I squeak back, aware of Dean’s eyes on me from behind. “I was interested in signing up for a membership.”

Jerry smiles. “Absolutely.” He taps on his keyboard. “I can see if one of our coaches is available for a quick consult.”

“Oh, that’d be great. I heard there was a meeting tonight. Is that something I could sit in on?”

“Absolutely.” He looks over to Dean for a quick second. “We’ll need some information to get you into the system if you do decide to join.” He hands me a clipboard. “Feel free to look over our policies while I see if someone can answer any questions you may have, Miss…?” He lets the question dangle for me to answer.

I clear my throat. “Winchester. Samantha Winchester.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! I'm sorry this isn't a smutty chapter.

Dean coughs behind me. I maintain a small smile directed at Jerry. There’s a mustard stain on his polo. The smell of greasy fast food has me guessing he’s got a burger and fries stashed behind the counter. If he’s a vampire, maybe he’s eating to blend in? But not being the best role model of healthy habits there, Jerry. Shouldn’t that be a huge no-no in here?

“I’ll be right back.” Jerry nods and turns to the doorway that leads to more of the place we need to case. Case. That rush of being undercover and covert is another reason my heart is beating fast.

Dean’s deep baritone rumbles through the waiting area. “About how much longer before bossman shows up, Jerry?”

Jerry flinches, stops in his tracks. When he turns back to respond, he looks paler. “I got a text response from  _ bosswoman _ . Informed me she had a family emergency. Won’t be in tonight.” Jerry’s courtesy smile is cracking under the pressure. He sprints out of our presence.

I stroll past the open doorway to peek. The lights are dimmer into wherever he’s disappeared to find me a coach. I remember the lore I read and the rehashing of some key facts about vampires Sam and Dean discussed earlier. 

Vamps won’t burn to ashes in sunlight. But, they are sensitive to various types of light and don’t particularly care for bright environments. That could account for the posters covering up most of the windows and the cool white vibe in the entryway. I realize it’s not the usual fluorescent feel in this space.

Oh, man. There might actually be a vampire working in Scale Warriors in Stockton, Kansas.

I tap my nails on the clipboard. A rotation on my sensible heels has me staring at Dean. He’s leaning forward in his seat, suit jacket unbuttoned, and distracted doing something with his phone. I’m kind of glad he’s not staring back. I’ve got a good run of coherent thoughts and fact collecting that would get thrown off track by all that face.

After a second of decision making, I take a seat and pretend to read through the paperwork. I’m caddy corner from Dean. Two chairs and a fake potted plant allows for a comfortable distance I think one would want from a stranger in a waiting area.

The rustling of papers and tapping from Dean on his phone mixes with the soft music playing from a ceiling speaker. There’s a security camera mounted in a corner that faces the entrance door. I shift in my seat, wondering if Dean’s noticed that, too. 

I fiddle with the open collar of my dusty grey blouse and pick a hair off the dark denim of my jeans. The ashes I was given by Sam to sprinkle over my clothes made the color choices necessary. Burned remnants of saffron, skunk cabbage, and trillium are supposed to make it hard for a vampire to lock onto my scent: an apparent no-no and something to try to avoid at all costs. But I also wanted to avoid said mixture from staining a lighter fabric that hangs in my closet. My phone buzzes from the side pocket of my purse.

It’s a text from Dean.  _ Didn’t I tell you not to dress too sexy? How’s a guy supposed to concentrate? _ He leans back in his seat, phone in one hand, and focuses on the doorway to the back rooms. His knees are spread wide apart.

I suck my lips in to prevent the wide smile that wants to emerge. I text back.  _ Did you have any luck earlier? _

His phone dings. He looks down and types away. I hear the swoosh of a message coming my way.  _ I hope I get lucky with you later.  _ I peek at him from under my glasses. He’s still not making eye contact. All business like and serious. No wisecrack smile as he continues tapping.  _ Jerry’s not budging and I don’t think he’s got a clue. Only been working here a few months. I’ll try to get the boss’s name before I leave. But, not going anywhere until the meeting starts and you’ve got some company. Safety in numbers. _

_ Thanks. _

There’s a slight tick up at the corner of his mouth as he answers my one word reply. I prepare myself for whatever he’s composing that has him amused. Another swoosh. My gaze tears from those sinful lips to read his text.  _ And then after this milk run, Ms. Winchester, you’re taking me back to your place. You know... to debrief me and all. So much debriefing to do after. _

Goddammit. 

A voice startles me out of my thoughts as to the specifics of what debriefing Dean might entail. “Ms. Winchester?”

The voice is most definitely not Dean’s. I tilt my head up to see that it belongs to the toned frame of a woman around my age. She’s donning form-fitting, loud-patterned leggings, a sports jacket, and a high blonde ponytail. Her eyes lock onto Dean. He gives her that sweet smile and head nod. She may have come out looking for me; but she’s found something much more interesting.

I can’t blame her for the distraction. A thrill that I’ve indulged in a lot of what she’s probably thinking - with the man her eyes are currently undressing - ripples under my skin. I drop the phone back into my purse and raise two fingers. “That’d be me.”

There’s a delay on her end to turn and acknowledge me. It’s not her fault. She’s been pulled into Dean’s formidable tractor beam of attraction.

“Nice to meet you.” She steps to me as I raise and we meet in the middle with a hand shake. “I’m Bonnie. Jerry said you’re interested in joining us at Scale Warriors. I’d be happy to provide you with some more information about the program and do a quick consultation before our meeting gets started.”

“That’d be great.” I feel like I’m in robot mode, stilted and clunky in my response.

If I am, it doesn’t seem to register with Bonnie, who may be on robot mode herself. Her brown eyes blink in rapid succession. “Please follow me.” She leads the way, walking and talking. “How’d you hear about us?”

I give Dean a quick side glance and he offers me a reassuring smile. “Billboards, radio ads. Your advertising department is doing a great job.” 

“Well our advertising department of one will be happy to hear that.” Bonnie lets out a canned little giggle. 

Once I pass through the threshold from the entryway to the back, I’m met with a large open space with rather poor lighting. A standing computer workstation is tucked away in each of the three corners. I notice there’s another staff member busy working away on one of them. A circle of chairs waits for the meeting to begin in the middle of the floor. More posters, spouting tips and tricks about nutrition and exercise, are evenly spaced along the walls. There are multiple professional-style weight scales, some mounted mirrors, racks of self help pamphlets and a water cooler.

Jerry whizzes past us back to the front. Bonnie continues. “What is it that brought you here today?”

I sigh and wrap my arms around the clipboard. “Ready for a change. Open myself up to some new possibilities.”

“Wonderful.” She smiles and shows off the whitest and straightest set of teeth I’ve seen in a while. I stare at them and wonder if she has a set of retractable fangs. “We have an introductory enlistment program that might be perfect for you. I believe the paperwork Jerry gave you highlights our ‘Army Private’ benefits.”

“Agent Sambora!” As soon as Jerry’s voice raises and calls his name I see Dean appear in the doorway, casual as can be. A rather disgruntled looking Jerry is right behind him, dashing to keep up. “We’re getting ready for a meeting.”

“I heard you the first three times. Don’t mind me. Carry on with your preparations.” Dean’s strolling past the posters and picks up a pamphlet to read.

Jerry looks to Bonnie and raises his hands in defeat.

Bonnie frowns and focuses on me once again. “Sorry about this.”

I wave a hand. “Nothing to be sorry about.” I lean in and whisper my question. “Why exactly is the FBI here?”

She shrugs. “No idea.”

“Hey, Jer, what’s your boss’s name?” Dean steps on one of the scales. He taps the weight to try to balance and get a reading. His brows lower as he keeps tapping.

“Laura Sullivan.” Jerry responds.

Dean nods, hops off the scale, and beelines over to the other staff member. I watch as he introduces himself and flashes his badge.

Bonnie clears her throat. “Anyway, we’re running a special. First month is free with a three-month commitment. Or, you have the option for a month-to-month enlistment.”

The murmurs and mumblings of Dean’s conversation wrestles with my focus. “I’m pretty much a one day at a time gal. Month to month would probably better suit me.”

“Of course.” Bonnie doesn’t seem to mind in the least. “What brings you to us?” She crosses her arms. “Is there an important event coming up?”

I smile. She’s making this super easy. “I got word of a High School Reunion in the works.”

Bonnie smiles back. “Ah. Say no more. How much time have we got to work with?”

“Four months to shed ten pounds?” I ask, hopeful.

She waves a hand. “Sensible goal. Totally doable.” 

“I’d really like to attend the meeting tonight. You know, dive right in.” I use the clipboard as a prop to illustrate my eagerness.

“I think we can get a quick application processed in the next twenty minutes. We love that kind of enthusiasm.”

“Excuse me.” I jump along with Bonnie at Dean’s interruption. How the hell did he sneak up on the both of us?

“Y-yes?” Bonnie clutches the side of her neck.

He flips a badge open and shut. “Ryan over there,” Dean thumbs behind him to the staff member hiding behind a monitor, “says you were Mary Talbot’s coach? Is that correct?”

Her eyes fill with an easily identified look. One I saw from others for days, weeks, months after Rick passed. Sadness tinged with sympathy. “I was. Such a horrible thing that happened.”

The brothers have only tied one of the murders back to this weight loss center. Mary Talbot. Mother of three. Local high school teacher. Had been married to her husband Scott for twenty years. She’d gone missing. Body eventually found six months back. 

When I heard that yesterday over dinner I thought my hunch had been a bust. But, it turned out, when they mapped out the location of the fitness centers in relation to Scale Warriors in Stockton - well, it was smack dab in the middle of all them. And further digging from Sam found that Scale Warriors had held info sessions at each of the fitness centers over the past two years.

There was a connection. And, it pointed to someone who worked here.

My skin crawls at the thought that it’s Bonnie. This short interaction and tiny glimpse of her reaction to Dean’s question displays a great ability to empathize. Did she lend a sympathetic ear and boost Mary Talbot’s confidence at weight loss only to jab into her jugular and drink her dry?

“This was one of the last places Mary visited before she went missing that same night.” Dean continues. “Anything weird or out of place that you can remember?”

She blinks fast again. “That was a long time ago.”

Dean nods. “Six months.”

She shrugs. “I have a hard time remembering where I park my car at the mall. Afraid I can’t tell you the specifics of a day that far back. Nothing out of the ordinary I can think of.”

“How long were you her coach?”

“Three months.” Bonnie sighs. “She was making amazing progress.” She smiles at me. “Getting ready for a class reunion, too.”

“Hm.” Dean nods. He pulls out a business card from an inside lapel. “If you think of anything… Bonnie, right?”

She tugs the card out of his fingers and nods.

“Appreciate any insight.” He smiles at me and strolls back to the doorway to lean against the wall.

Dean has no plans to go anywhere until the meeting starts. And, he’s left me with an opening to see what else I might be able to get out of Bonnie. I spot worry on her face now. “I remember reading about that,” I begin. “Hard to believe something like that could happen in a town like Stockton.”

Bonnie shivers. Dean’s gaze locks with mine over Bonnie’s shoulder for a couple seconds. There’s no tell in familiarity. Just interest. He does make a fine FBI agent.

“I’m guessing you build up a bit of camaraderie with the clients. I’m sure you were saddened by the news.” I offer.

“We take our clients' struggles and successes to heart.” Bonnie may be spilling out scripted words. But, there’s a hint of authenticity behind them. She straightens. “Speaking of, no time better than right not to get you on the road to success. Follow me.” A light smile pops up and she walks over to one of the workstations.

I smile and get ready to sign up for a membership as Samantha Winchester. Dean grins at me with something like… pride.

*

The night air is chillier as I step out onto the sidewalk with Peggy. The thirtysomething latched onto me from the start. I got an earful about her impending wedding happening in two months and how she’s halfway to her goal. She’s going to fit into that size four Vera Wang bridal gown even if they have to stitch her up in it before she walks down the aisle.

I listen as I always do. It’s a skill I have in spades. She grabs my forearm and wishes me a goodnight. Others spill out of the weight loss center. It’s obvious who’s a veteran, who’s buddied up for emotional support, who’s new and looking for reassurance and guidance.

I played up being a nosy little newbie with those that had been around for a while. The mention of a visit by an FBI agent in my discussions after the meeting, led with great enthusiasm by Ryan, raised some antennae from those genuinely wanting to hear more.

There wasn’t much to dissect from the information. Those that knew of Mary said she seemed to have a wonderful family and was a committed teacher. There were also praises about how good of a coach Bonnie was.

I sigh and look over to the other side of the street at the Impala still parked in the same spot. I narrow my eyes and try to spot Dean in the driver’s seat, wondering if he’s hiding in the shadows a bit. The brothers will be disappointed that nothing really came of my time in Scale Warriors. And Dean’s going to have to explain to Sam about the charge on his credit card. That membership is going to be a bitch to cancel. But I’m thinking most of their lines of credit are not on the up and up to begin with and credit scores are not of great importance.

I look around when I realize I’ve been lost in my thoughts long enough that everyone has gone their separate ways. A quick shuffle of steps behind me draws my attention to the sidewalk. It’s Sam, making a beeline toward me. “Hey.” He has this sweet, hesitant little way of smiling. I wonder if he’s adopted this soft demeanor to counterbalance his large, looming presence. Or maybe he does it to contrast his brother on some subconscious level.

There’s so much I wish I knew about these Winchesters. “Hi.” I smile back.

“Any luck?”

I shrug. “Not really. Did you get anything on what Dean found out?”

His face shifts, a slight note of worry. “Haven’t seen Dean since he went inside.” He cocks a thumb at the center window. The lights are still on. A couple meeting attendees stayed behind for some coaching from what I could piece together.

I stop and scour my memory banks. “Last time I saw him was at the start of the meeting.” That was forty minutes ago.

“He’s not in the car. He called when I was asking some questions about the other possible victim. Didn’t leave a message. I tried to call him back about ten minutes ago after I left the restaurant. I figured…” Sam sighs. “Will you call him? I’m gonna try and track his cell location.”

I nod. We both pull out our phones and get to our tasks. “He could be in the diner.” I reason. The man can always eat.

Sam nods, his face lit up by the screen he’s studying.

I call. It rings and rings and eventually goes to voicemail. His deep, recorded voice makes my stomach twist. “You’ve reached Dean. Leave a message.” I end the call as it beeps.

“Come on. Location’s got him blipping in this general area. You might be right about the diner. Or, knowing Dean, he could be checking things out around back.” Every one step Sam takes requires me to take three.

The wrap around corner to corner picture windows of the Home Town diner and its bright interior lighting allow us to take in the entirety of the scene without a step inside. Sam huffs and tucks hair behind an ear. His eyes flit about and canvas the area. 

No Dean hunched over a burger in a booth or stuffing his face with french fries. I don’t see that broad back tugging at the seams of his suit jacket. He’s not sitting at the counter indulging in something sweet.

“Sam?” I question, not really understanding what I should ask next. As far as I remember, the game plan was to meet outside after the meeting. Dean was going to be in the car, waiting for me to come out. Making sure nothing happened to me. Why would he decide not to do that when that seemed so important earlier? It was one of the main reasons he was worried about me helping out on this case to begin with. 

“Stay close, okay?” Sam slows his pace, remembering my stride in comparison to his. There’s a street light on the corner around the back of the diner. The small side street has a filled parking lot with patrons. If we walk farther down the road, past the lot and closer to the back of Scale Warriors, the lighting is almost nonexistent.

And that’s exactly where Sam is headed.

I’ve been told and read the only way to kill a vampire is by beheading. Dean had proudly showed off a sharpened machete back at the bunker. But something tells me that neither one of these brothers is sporting one under their jackets tonight. Guns, maybe.

Sam reaches the edge of the diner lot, just outside the safe halo of light from above.

“Dean?” He whispers in the night air, out into the shadows near the back entrance of the center. A dumpster serves as a marker defining the diner’s property line. There are a few cars parked on the other side of it, more than likely belonging to the Scale Warriors staff. “What the hell, Dean?” He mumbles to himself and pulls out his phone. He swipes with muscle memory and I spot Dean’s name on his screen before he calls his brother. 

I hear the clatter first. A rumble somewhere nearby, on the ground. I turn this way and that, try to pinpoint. Librarians are pretty good at isolating where a noise is coming from.

Then, I spot the light, radiating from under the restaurant dumpster.

Shit. I tug at Sam’s sleeve.

“Shit.” Sam verbalizes my inner thought, dashes to retrieve what we both know will be Dean’s phone. 

I rush over to Sam’s side again. My heart sinks at the confirmation. I glance over Sam’s forearm. The screen is open to my text message thread with Dean.

“I should have answered when he called. But he should have texted me the name of the boss at the weight loss center if he’d gotten it. Dammit.” He slaps the phone against his thigh.

“Laura Sullivan.” I reply on autopilot, feeling my voice disconnect from my body.

“What?” Sam turns to face me.

“I heard Dean asking one of the staff. Boss’s name is Laura Sullivan.”

“Someone caught on to our sniffing around.” Sam hands me Dean’s phone. “I’m gonna check the dumpster and the cars.” He grabs my biceps with two very large hands and squeezes, guiding my back to lean against the metal of the trash stasher. He bends down a couple feet and looks straight into my eyes, pleading. “Don’t move. Keep an eye out. Let me know if someone’s coming.”

I struggle to nod. Not really seeing Sam. I stare down at Dean’s phone for a moment.

All I can see clearly is the very last word Dean texted me.

_ After. _


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy and that everyone is safe, whatever part of the globe you are currently occupying. :-)

_ After. _

I can’t stop playing that word over and over in my head. My eyes dart everywhere and nowhere as I scan. Sam flicks on a flashlight, lifts the lid of the dumpster, and hoists up onto the side to check the interior contents.

The stench of layers and layers of garbage in varying states of decay meets my nose. My stomach lurches. If I had anything substantial in there, it would be all over the asphalt. The putrid smell lingers long after Sam’s closed the dumpster and moved on to sweep shafts of white light into windshields. 

My eyes have adjusted to the dark by now. I can see the frustration on his face in the shadows when he stands behind each car trunk. I can read his motivation. He wants to crack every single one open but can’t chance an alarm going off. That would alert people. Have others around the scene he’s inspecting. And he needs time. He needs to check. 

For Dean’s body.

My throat can’t even swallow at this point. My vocal cords have frozen in place like every single muscle under my skin.

I have no idea how much time has passed. But it’s enough for Sam to have covered the entire area behind the center and diner.

“Winter.” He motions some yards away. The gesture is easy to identify. He wants me to follow him back to our cars on Main Street.

But, I can’t. I can’t move.

More frustration lines that expansive forehead of the younger Winchester. Suddenly he’s in front of me and grabs my biceps. I imagine him carting me off under his arm like a lifesize cardboard cutout. A feat that I believe he is totally capable of doing with little effort. “Winter.” He takes a deep breath. “We’re going to find him. Okay? But we can’t do that here. We can’t stay here.”

Something unhinges in me deep inside. Thawing, I nod. “Sam… what if…”

Sam shakes his head. He’s not entertaining whatever it is I’m about to come up with. “Come on… let’s go.” He tucks an arm around my waist and drags me, almost lifts me off the ground until I’m able to put one foot in front of the other. I can eventually walk on my own alongside.

Snapshots of moments in real time fill my head for a minute or two. I end up in a booth in the Home Town diner with Sam sitting opposite. The movie reel begins to spin and catches up. The celluloid film flickers and bounces and then Sam’s voice syncs with the video playing before me.

He orders us two coffees and waits until we’re alone to acknowledge my presence. “I need you to try and tell me if there’s anything that stood out back at the center. Staff. Clients.” He tips his wrist to look at his watch. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before they close for the night.”

I tilt my head to the left and stare out the window. He picked a booth close to the intersection. His head bobbles with nervous energy scoping one streetside and then the other. 

My hands clasp tight in my lap. It’s the only way I can keep them from shaking. “I-I don’t know…”

His jaw steels tight. Nostrils flare. He waits. Quiet. I realize how often he’s the calm before the eventual storm that is his brother.

I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. I remind myself that Dean believed I could handle this. That I could be a help, not a hindrance. And anything I remember might turn out to be a lead. “Jerry had only been working there a few months. Dean didn’t think he was in on anything.”

Sam nods.

“Bonnie was Mary’s coach. And, Ryan… Ryan knew that… he’d been around for a while.”

Sam nods faster and pulls out his phone. “Good. That gives us somewhere to start. I got a text from Dean earlier that he would get the name of the boss so I could do some research back at the bunker. Which you said you heard was a Laura Sullivan?”

I nod.

Two coffee cups land in front of us, courtesy of our waitress. The pours of black liquid are long and drawn out. It’s torture as we wait to continue. We’re asked if we’ve seen anything on the menu that we like. We both shake our head. Sam mentions that’ll be all and if we could have the check now, that would be great.

The tear of paper is loud and echoes in my brain until we’re alone again. My rapid pulse overpowers my ability to hear Sam’s mumbling.

“What?” I ask.

“Dean would kill me for what I’m going to suggest right now.” He repeats.

I can feel my eyes widen.

“We’ve got two possible leads. And two cars that can tail them.” He states in a matter of fact tone. “If you think you can handle it.”

My brain stutters at what he’s asking.

“Whoever’s got him, he’s still breathing more than likely. Or, they’re moving him somewhere else for whatever… probably to feed. Even if they want him out of the way, they’re not going to pass up on a meal.”

I nod like I’m sitting in on a lecture. I keep nodding, because if I stop to process what Sam’s inferring may happen to Dean...

“We’ll head back to the Impala.” He continues to rattle off his plan. “I’ll get you a weapon just in case…”

A machete. He’s going to give me a fucking machete. In case I need to try and lop a vampire’s head off.

“Who do you want to follow?”

“Bonnie.” I whisper.

Sam nods. “Alright.” He points to my cup. “Drink up. We got work to do.”

*

Would I love to be a total badass that could swoop in and save the day? Protect everyone I care about with an expertly choreographed fight scene? Swing a machete through the air in total silence? Slice through tendons and bones using sharpened silver with the same ease as I slice through parchment with a paper cutter? 

Of course. In my dreams, my 46 year old ass is as lithe and perky as an ethereal ballerina with the mad skills of a ninja warrior thrown in for good measure.

I would love to, on occasion, be the hero. Be the one to rescue and right the wrongs.

But, I’m not Sam. Or Dean. Nowhere close.

And even Dean, the hero of my story, isn’t invulnerable.

Even he can go missing.

And any leads Sam thought my tailing Bonnie might turn up have proved a waste of time.

I had pulled my jeep around the corner, parked away from the spotlight of street lamps, and waited for Bonnie to exit the Scale Warriors’ backlot. Heeding Sam’s suggestion, I kept a good block or so distance between our cars. Lucky for me, Bonnie wasn’t a speedster. And, even luckier, she only lived about fifteen minutes away from her place of work.

Sam kept me on speaker phone the entire time for both our drives. He didn’t say much, checked in every few minutes, kept me calm and relayed his status following Ryan.

I coasted past the driveway Bonnie had turned into and parked in front of the next house. I killed the engine and sat in the dark. An angling of the rear view mirror assisted in my spy detail. The trunk of Bonnie’s SUV popped open for anyone streetside who wanted to take a gander. A floodlight washed the scene in bright white when she hopped out of the driver’s side. A teenage girl came out the front door and helped Bonnie with random shopping bags. The apparent offspring chatted enthusiastically about something and they both disappeared back into the house the way she’d come.

After my rolling commentary, I waited another ten minutes as Sam requested. But, nothing. No sign of anything amiss.

No Dean.

Sam’s simultaneous tail had started with Ryan going through a fast food drive through and ended at an apartment complex. Ready to head in, Ryan opened the trunk of his compact while a neighbor sidled up and chatted. A large workout bag was the only thing he fished out. The young woman didn’t seem fazed by anything in the car. Another lead that ran dry.

No Dean.

Sam huffs after matching futile results on both ends. He needs a place with decent WiFi and mentions another diner he clocked on the drive. He gives me the location and asks me to meet him there. He’s got to make a call and quick. Translation: he can’t babysit me the whole time.

“Will you be alright?”

“Big girl here, Sam. You do what you have to. I know time is precious. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

*

The tiny greasy spoon has the only OPEN sign still lit up on a stretch of city blocks in Stockton. A green neon sign advertises “We WiFi” to the right of the entrance. I step inside and a bleary eyed waitress gives me a tired wave and invites me to sit wherever I please. It’s not like the choices are limitless. But I zone in on my partner immediately. 

Sam Winchester dwarfs a dinette set he’s made his headquarters. My soles almost refuse to peel away from the sticky linoleum as I hurry over. I hear his hushed conversation on approach. One hand holds the phone to his ear; the other is busy tapping on his laptop.

I don’t bother to shake out of my jacket. I scoot into the empty chair across from Sam.

He nods at me. He’s bent and contorted to fit into what looks like toddler furniture in comparison to his frame. Bent knees press into the tabletop and threaten to lift it right off the floor.

“Cliff and Harv? Yeah, if you can, Garth. Alright, call me back as soon as you can. Thanks.” Sam clicks off the phone and slides it next to his computer. “May have a lead on some backup. Not too far out from Stockton.”

The same tired waitress, Rachel by her nametag, asks what I’ll have. I don’t think we’ll be long. But, I ask for a cup of coffee for here and three pieces of pie to go. Whatever she needs to get rid of will do. Sam’s confused look requests clarification. “For when we get Dean back.”

He pushes his mouth up into a forced smile.

“What have you been researching?” I lean into the chair back. My fingers don’t want to stay still so I grip the table’s edge.

“Laura Sullivan.”

“Anything?”

“In her late twenties. I just got a home address. Checking it’s location. That’s as good a place to head to next.”

“Details on her family?”

He’s quick to focus and type out the query. I get a cup of coffee slid in front of me by Rachel with an update that she can box up a piece of apple, cherry, and pecan. I smile and tell her that’ll be grand. Dean can have all the pie when we get him back. I sip at the hot, steaming liquid. At least my fingers can cling to and grip the warm ceramic cup while I wait.

Sam’s bottom lip juts out as he shakes his head. “None that I can tell.”

“No family nearby?”

“No family. Period.”

“She didn’t come into work because of a family emergency.” My teeth click. “At least that’s what Jerry told Dean.”

“Well, someone was lying.”

Just like I did earlier. “Maybe word about an FBI agent poking around got her nervous?”

“Wait. Her apartment. It’s not that far from one of the fitness centers one of the vics was a member at.” His eyes connect with mine. “I’ve definitely got to get over there.” He opens a nav app on his phone and types in the address.

I nod. “Let’s go.”

“No. Not us. Me.” He raises a hand. “Not happening, Winter. Dean’d be extremely pissed with me already, getting you to tail a suspect on your own. No way you’re coming along for this.”

“I think he’d be more pissed if you went by yourself.”

His phone buzzes. Sam hurries to answer. “Hey, Garth. Whaddya got for me?” His brows quirk up. There’s a look of relief as he listens. “I owe you, man. I’ll give Cliff a call and let him know where to meet.” He’s silent for some seconds. “Yeah. I’ll read him the riot act for making us all worry.” He can’t help but nod even though the person on the other end can’t see him. “Will do.”

“Sounds like good news.”

“Hope so. Gonna meet a hunter and we’ll try the apartment. If we don’t find Dean maybe we find someone who can tell us where he is.”

“Sam, are you sure I can’t…” I try again.

This shake of his head tosses strands of hair around like he’s in a shampoo commercial. “You’re heading to the bunker straight away. Get there as soon as you can. If you think you’re being followed on the way, get yourself somewhere there’s a lot of activity. Even if it has to be a bar or a police station. Whatever. And text me when you get there.”

I smile. “You’re pretty good at that.”

His brows do a quick wave up and down. “What?”

“Giving orders.”

He tries hard to smile back. It’s laced with worry. “I learned from the best.”

*

The clock on my dashboard ticks closer to 11:00 pm. The drive has been anything but peaceful. My mind can’t stop shaking the thought that I’m to blame for all this. That if I hadn’t insisted that I’d be helpful on the shakedown for information, that Dean and Sam would be safe and sound back at the bunker. Right now. Going over the next steps. Planning. Getting some shut eye so they could continue their job of saving people tomorrow.

Instead, I’m the one heading back to the abode of the Men of Letters. Alone. With a key in a box carved with mysterious symbols that will let me into a fortress of magic and artifacts and centuries of knowledge. Alone.

I’ve been on edge, checking mirrors like an anxious new driver. I don’t think I was followed out of Stockton. The past twenty minutes has been a solitary drive toward Lebanon. I’m making my way through the woods now, creeping towards my destination.

Dean. God, what if? No. I can’t go down that road of thought for too long. Or I’ll get lost in that feeling of despair I’ve tried so hard to forget. My ability to focus or function would be unmoored again. Like it was all those years ago.

This man. I’ve gotten the chance to really start to get to know him. To be consumed and enthralled by him. God wouldn’t, couldn’t be so cruel to take that away. Not again.

My mind then rationalizes that if… no, when he’s found, maybe it’s in our collective best interests to call it a draw. It was a fun little detour. But maybe it’s easier, safer, if we go back to how things were a week ago. Not for me. For him.

I gasp when the woods break open into the clearing near the bunker. My headlights creep over a foreign car parked out front. I brake hard, then scramble to grab my phone and call Sam.

The driver’s side door of the hatchback opens and the metallic paint job shimmers. I may not have enough working brain power to call Sam. I weigh the idea to shift into reverse and back out the way I came.

But then I see the driver. His bow legs stumble into the glow my jeep produces.

“Dean!” I call out. My body rushes, pulses with adrenaline. He’s on his knees the next second. Somehow I’m already there, my hands and arms propping him up. He leans forward. His forehead pushes against my collar bone. All his weight crashes against me.

His shirt feels warm, sticky, and wet.

“Dean.” I mumble.

“Gonna get you all messed up, Winter.” His warm breath stutters out the words against my skin.

“Do I…” My own breath hitches, forces down a sob as I try to assess where he’s hurt. “Do I need to get you to a hospital?”

His head shakes. “I lost some blood. Need some stitching up. Nothing too serious. Drive wore me out. I passed out. Hurrying out when I saw you got me lightheaded.” He chuckles. “You get me all swoony.”

I can’t help but laugh at the cheesiness he’s mustering up at this moment. It is so very inappropriate and all him.

“You okay?” A cool palm lands on my cheek. “I drove back after… didn’t see you or Sammy… figured I’d come back here and wait.” Something switches in him. He’s gotten a burst of energy or a clearer head or something. He rocks back on his heels. Half of his face is lit up by the headlights, streaked with dirt and blood. “Where’s Sam?” 

“He was going to Laura Sullivan’s apartment.” I respond. He’s grunting and leaning palms on the ground to rise up. My hands are at his waist when he’s halfway to his feet.

“Alone?”

“He was meeting up with a hunter.”

His eyes narrow and he sucks in breath. “Call him. Now, Winter.”

I nod. “Can you stand on your own?”

“Yeah.”

I sprint to the jeep and am back to Dean in a flash, calling Sam on speaker. I fit under Dean’s armpit, like a crutch. He leans on me for some support, but I feel him shift his weight. My hand sways, phone in hand. I try to keep it close to his face. The blue light dances over his features and reveals more of the hell he’s been through.

We both exhale when Sam picks up on the third ring. “Winter?”

“Sammy.” Dean sighs.

“Dean! What the hell?”

“Did you find anything?” He ignores Sam’s question. “At Laura Sullivans?”

“Not sure. Gotta check a few things out.” His voice is more composed when he answers. “No Laura though.”

“That’s because she’s in the trunk of my borrowed car. In two pieces.”

“She was the vamp?”

“She was  _ a _ vamp. She didn’t get a chance to do a whole lot of villain monologuing. When I came to, in an abandoned farmhouse, I shimmied out of being hogtied and then used a shovel to separate her head from her body.” Dean gulps for air. He clutches the side of his chest. I debate if I’ll be able to help him get inside by myself. “I heard her talking to someone, on the phone. Plan was for me to be their next blood bag.”

“How many? Were they supposed to meet up there? Where was it?” Sam’s questions spill out with the speed of a bullet train.

“Half-cocked never works. Get back to the bunker. We can regroup, get more details, figure out what’s next.” I listen to how measured Dean’s words are. How easy he shifts to counter and calm his brother. How he’s trying to be the reasonable one now. “I’m not one-hundred percent, Sammy. Someone’s gotta check out the body.”

“Alright. I’ll ask Cliff to stick around?” Sam suggests.

“Yeah.” Dean looks at me with a smile that hints he’s glad it didn’t take too much effort to convince Sam. His lids drop all of a sudden and he loses the balance he’s been struggling to maintain.

“Sam?” I squeak out.

“Yeah?”

“Hurry.”

“Alright.” Sam ends the call.

I grunt at his weight. “Dean?”

“Hm?” The response is of one being awoken from a deep sleep.

“I-I don’t know what to do.” I release a soft whimper and want to slap myself for my inability to think.

“It’s okay.” He mumbles.

“I’ve got the key.” I manage to remember.

“Key?”

“To get in the bunker.”

His head lolls to the other side. I fear he’ll lean too far and fall over. I clutch his waist with a tight bear hug, feel something warm and squishy, and realize that was a mistake way too late. Whatever I did turns his body rigid for a second. His eyes pop open. “Shit.”

“Sorry.”

“No. No.” He clicks his teeth. “That’s what I need. If I decide to check out on you again, do that.” He’s on his own two feet now. “Let’s try to get my lazy ass inside.”


	14. Chapter 14

Dean did not make it easy for me. We had stopped and started a half a dozen times, practically tripped over each other’s feet and the concrete steps to the bunker entrance. We grunted and cussed our way down the trellis staircase once inside and into the war room, then made it as far as the library. 

I toppled him into one of the cushy leather chairs. I was then given directions on where to look for first aid supplies. They stashed them in every room of the bunker apparently. Good call on their part, always prepared. With the kit and a roll of paper towels in hand, I passed the well stocked mini bar in one of the seating areas and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, too.

Always prepared.

I drop the supplies and bottle by the dress shoes he’s wearing. They’re dusty, scuffed, and bereft of any shine their owner had buffed into them. Dean’s eyes blink with a dopey, trippy sluggishness. A clap of my hands in front of his face brings him back to the present situation.

“Dean? Can you sit up? Need to see what we’re dealing with here. Get this shirt off.”

“Sam’ll be here soon.” His voice is deep and gritty. “You don’t have to play Florence Nightingale.” He hums out a grunt of pain. “Unless it ends with you giving me a sponge bath.”

“Always with the jokes.” I mumble and place my hands on the back of his shoulders. Gentle pressure coaxes him into a straight stance on the chair.

“Who was joking?”

I shake my head, then pick up the bottle and twist off the cap. I press the rim to his eager and waiting lips. He chugs down a few healthy gulps.

“Ah.” 

I can’t tell if the soft roar is from pain or satisfaction. But I know the liquor should help with some of the discomfort soon. I kneel by his leg. My fingers flip the kit open and do a quick rummage through the contents.

“Should be some prescription painkillers in there.” His own fingers are starting to undo the buttons of what was once a pristine white, pressed collared shirt. It’s now a freakish tie-dye of dirt brown and crimson red.

A shake of the pill bottle I’ve found indicates his assumption is correct. I gander at the patient's name on the label. “Wayne, Bruce?” I ask.

He can’t bother to comment, only gestures with an open palm of his need. He must catch my hesitant reaction because he provides a reminder. “Gonna need it for what’s gotta be done.” I struggle with the child proof cap for longer than I’d like. But success comes eventually. He swallows them dry, then grabs the whiskey and takes another pull.

“Dean…” I start.

The bottle clinks on the floor. There’s an attempt on his own to remove his shirt. “A little help.” He huffs.

I’m back on my feet to assist with one sleeve and make my way around to his right side to peel him out of the other like a banana.

The library lights display the task before me in full detail. I swallow. My stomach gets queasy. For the first time - and, I hope the only time - I wish I didn’t see all of Dean Winchester. 

There’s patches of blood. Some spots are drier than others. Those were the ones that had stuck the shirt fabric to his skin. There’s shiny streaks here and there. Fresher. I worry he may be bleeding in lots of places. The metallic tinge of blood meets my nose and hits the taste buds on my tongue when I lick my lips.

“It’s not all mine, Winter.” He tries to ease my worry. “It got pretty messy when I had to drag her out to the car and stuff her in the trunk.”

I wrap a wad of paper towels around my hand to cover it like an oven mitt. I start to press and wipe over his chest. Trepid strokes try to reveal any wounds that need attention. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

“Can’t do any worse than what I tend to do to myself.” His head tilts and stares up at me. That pretty face is so dirty and worn out.

This isn’t going to get the job done. Mom mode kicks in. “I need to get some water and towels.” He opens his mouth to protest. I straighten up and point at him. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grumbles.

My right back took longer than I hoped. I get turned around and spin on my heels like a very uncoordinated spinning top looking for the kitchen. I find it, eventually, pushing through the adrenaline that’s making my normal, steady focus anything but that.

As I’m filling a pot with hot water and searching for a couple clean dish towels, there’s a clang and slam, The sound echoes through the bunker. I think it may be the entrance. I then realize I didn’t lock the damn door in my haste and under Dean’s leaning weight.

Shit.

But, then, I hear Sam’s voice. “Dean?” I sigh in relief.

When I return to the library, Sam is beside his brother inspecting the damage. Another man, who must be Cliff, takes in the scene from a nearby seat. The discussion is all hunter business.

“Not thinkin’ it’s much in the way of a nest, how Sam was explainin’.” Cliff speaks with a heavy southern twang.

“Yeah.” Dean shifts in his seat. He looks like he’s trying to dart from under Sam’s gaze. “Might depend on the appetite and control they’ve got not to suck a treat dry. Maybe three, at the most.” He’s looking wobblier as he continues his duck and weave.

I want to say something and march over, tell him to sit still. But I bite my tongue and let the hunters continue to think out loud. Water sloshes under the lid of the stock pot I grip tight by the handles. Dish towels are slung over a forearm like a server at a fancy restaurant.

“They could be feeding on other animals.” Sam stands up and shakes his head at his brother. He looks as exasperated as I feel watching Dean. “I gotta stitch you up.”

Dean notices me first. “Winter. Come on in and join the festivities.” My eyes pop open when I see him shoot up out of his seat with a grandiose wave. There’s no way his body should be able to do that right now. Between the alcohol and the pills, both will have an effect at this point.

I’m correct. 

He falls forward, head leading the way like a domino toppling. Sam’s got him, with his biceps securely latched under armpits. “Ouch.” He mumbles into Sam’s suit jacket.

Sam looks at me, then points to the whiskey bottle on the floor. “Pills, too?” He huffs out with a knowing smile.

I nod. When I take a harder look at the bottle, something tells me Dean helped himself to more while I was gone. I shift in my stance. The weight of the heavy pot starts to take its toll.

Cliff rises. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” His scruffy beard makes it hard to figure out his age. He latches onto the baseball cap rim and tips his head. “I’ll take care of gettin’ the body outta the trunk. Where you want her?”

“Tarp’s in one of the cabinets back where we came.” Sam advises. “You can leave her in the war room until I’m done with Mr. Party Animal here.”

Dean raises a hand and points upward to the stairwell. His cheek presses into Sam’s lapel. “Phone. Don’t forget the phone.”

“Whatsat, Winchester?” Cliff cocks his ear in Dean’s direction.

“I broke her phone in the fight. Thought one of you geniuses might be able to hack it or some shit. In the trunk.” He waves.

“On it.” Cliff’s lanky frame sprints out of sight.

“Dean.” Sam smacks the back of his brother’s head.

“Huh?”

“I’m not carrying you, dude. Either we stitch you up here or you walk yourself to your room.”

Dean scoffs. “Fine. Here.”

Sam nods over his brother’s head to me. “Over on the table.” He takes his brother and lifts him like a ragdoll to sit on the dark wood’s edge. Dean slumps forward a bit, then wakes himself up to throw his head back and cuss at the pain.

I drop the pot between Sam and Dean on a nearby chair and go to collect the supplies off the floor. When I’ve placed things within easy reach, Sam’s already getting ready to work. He shuffles out of his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of the starched white shirt well past his elbows. 

He uses a damp towel and uncovers the gash on his brother’s side. By the look on Sam’s face, there’s reason for concern. The slice is long, maybe four inches. A flap of skin peels back to reveal something meaty. But it doesn’t appear to be gushing or leaking blood as my brain had expected. 

As a wife, I dealt with a fussy husband who was the biggest baby when he got the flu, yet wouldn’t hesitate to head into a burning building. There were many days when he’d come home a little beaten up, but always squeaky clean after a shower at the firehouse. 

As a mom, I’ve dealt with scraped knees, the usual bumps and bruises, wisdom teeth extraction, even a broken arm with Ricky. I’d wipe away tears and hum him to sleep more times than I can remember.

Looking at Dean Winchester, I’m not sure where to even begin in the moment. I’m also not sure if I can stand by and witness Sam thread a needle through his skin. Skin my fingers traced over this morning. I swallow the lump in my throat and dunk a towel in the warm water. It’s rung nice and tight. I open it up to try and do something with that face, starting at the forehead. I wipe and dunk. Wipe and dunk again.

I want to see the skin I stared at earlier that evening. Those ridges and furrows that emphasized everything that came out of his mouth. I want to get every bit of blood and dirt out of those tiny caverns of experience and thought and worry. I want to kiss that skin again, bathe it in the warmth of my breath, whisper to him that he’ll be fine. I want...

Dean’s woozy smile catches me off guard after I’ve wiped away the mess from his mouth and chin. “I’m guessing Winter was pretty great tonight? Huh, Sammy?”

Sam looks up at his brother from his now seated position. He’s been busy threading a curved needle that looks like a fish hook. “She wasn’t bad. Wouldn’t mind having her as a partner. Maybe I can trade up.” He smirks and passes Dean the whiskey bottle. “You want to do the honors or should I?”

Dean’s smile drops. He grabs the bottle by the neck. “You’ll get way too much enjoyment.” Breath held, Dean squints his eyes and spills the liquor over the wound to prepare. He groans on the exhale. He’s about to drink again but I put my hand over the top. He groans and places it on the table. The sulky expression reminds me of Ricky being sent to his room after dinner without dessert.

It’s when I’ve gotten to Dean’s neck and swipe that I see the bite marks. I tap Sam on the shoulder. His eyes widen when he sees it, too. “Dean?” He asks.

“What?” He grumbles.

“Do you remember getting bit?”

Dean tilts his head. “Ah, yeah.” He runs fingers over the spot and hisses.

“Did you…”

“No, Sammy. She didn’t make me feed. Just wanted a taste, I guess. If she’d ripped into my jugular I’d have gone to waste real quick.”

I sigh louder than intended and attempt to cover it up with a fact I recall. “Dead man’s blood is fatal to vampires.”

“You’re doing very well with your studies.” He smiles in between more cussing as Sam pulls the skin taut on his side. “A little warning would be nice.”

“I think you're trolling for sympathy since we have an audience.” Sam purses his lips.

Dean corkscrews his lips at that. “Just shut up and stitch.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My takeaways from this chapter: Sam is a great doctor. Heavily medicated Dean is a very funny, super cute Dean. Also, I'm imagining Hughie from The Boys when it comes to Ricky. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Songs Referenced: 
> 
> "Can't Take My Eyes off You"  
> Artist: Frankie Valli  
> Writers: Bob Crewe, Bob Gaudio
> 
> "You Make Loving Fun"  
> Artist: Fleetwood Mac  
> Writer: Christine McVie

Twenty minutes later, Sam carries a passed-out Dean to his room. Forearms with flexing cords tuck under his older brother’s sprawling back and wedge under knees. I follow behind the massive beanpole holding his also not too shabby in stature brother. Dean’s head bounces and sways backward to Sam’s gait. He looks downright precious with his mouth agape. The unconscious damsel in distress carted away from danger by the hero is stirring up wild images in my head.

He’s laid out on the bed I helped make this morning. I lean against the doorsill and wait for instructions. The takeout bag I rescued from my Jeep during the surgery dangles from my clutches. Sam removes Dean boots. He checks the bandages wrapped around his midsection to keep the gauze over the stitches in place. He nods at his work, then smiles as he steps to me.

“I think he’ll sleep fine for another few hours. Most of the blood wasn’t his. Wasn’t as bad as it looked.” He steps out into the hall to lean on the opposite side, arms folded, biceps pressed against the sill. We stare at Dean, doting parents having just put their child to bed.

I nod. “That’s what he said earlier.” A shiver skirts up my spine. “Still, that was some sewing job you had to do.”

“Another scar, another story to tell over a beer.” Sam smiles. “Thanks, Winter. You really did well tonight.”

“I hope so. Last thing I wanted to do was make things worse.”

He shrugs. “Sometimes we take things a little more routine than we should. We’ve been doing this for so long that danger sneaks up on us cause we get complacent. Don’t tell Dean I said that. He’ll deny it.”

I smile. “What now?”

“Cliff’s been working on the phone. I’ll see if he’s pulled any data from it. Should probably help him get the body somewhere we can get a better look.” He catches my reaction and chuckles. “Don’t worry, we won’t use the library for that.” Sam’s long finger points to Dean. “Wanna stay with him for a bit? Then do an all-night cram session?”

“Research sounds like an excellent idea.”

“I’ll get a pot of coffee started.” He rubs my shoulder, then treks down the hall to find Cliff.

The plastic bag shifts and crinkles with my steps into the bedroom. I pull out the styrofoam container stuffed with three slices of pie. I find a home for it on the nightstand with a few napkins and a takeout fork and spoon on top. Tidy-up mode kicks in. The empty bag is filled with a couple of empty water bottles and beer cans littering the top of his desk. 

I’m about to leave the room and grab him more water bottles when some coughs get my attention. One of his whiskey glasses will have to do for now. I fill it up using the wall-mounted sink by the door. I stand over him, debate if I should wake him to take a drink. But, he quiets down and I leave it by the pie instead.

Two fingers skim his forehead. No fever. Good news. Hopefully, his wounds were sterilized well enough so there’s no infection. Sam did use antiseptic, too. 

Dean’s lips part. He inhales deep. Gravity and painkillers have relaxed much of his appearance.

I skim the side of his face, run pads down the curve of his neck, around the bandaged bite, and over a large, round shoulder. The dirty suit pants he’s still wearing make me grit my teeth together.

“Well,” I sigh, “it’s not a sponge bath, Winchester.” I undo the buckle and pull the leather belt free. “But, it’ll have to do.”

I start to worry that he’ll need more first aid from something we missed when I pull down his pants. I struggle tugging the fabric out from under his fine ass. He moans at the action, then utters my name soft on an exhale. “Winter?”

“Go back to sleep,” I whisper back. The more Dean revealed, the more difficult it gets to keep my thoughts PG. Lucky for me, everything below the waist looks intact. I fight the urge to take his boxer briefs off, just to be thorough in my assessment. There’s a throw blanket at the base of the bed. I pull it over those fine bow legs and cute little black business socks.

He catches my wrist with a firm grip, even with eyes peeking behind slitted, heavy lids. “You okay?” He mumbles. Concern replaces the peace that was on his face. “I’m not gonna leave until the meeting starts, okay?”

The meds are definitely working. “I’m fine, Dean. We’re all back in the bunker, safe. Sleep.”

He hums and smiles. Eyes close. “Something else, Winter.”

“What, Dean?”

“You’re somethin’ else. Somethin’ special.”

I smile.

“Knew that. First time I laid eyes on you.”

“Dean…” My face heats up. This man has done all sorts of things to excite and arouse me utilizing all five senses. A lingering gaze. A gravelly rumble. A feathery touch. A heavenly musk. A salty-sweet taste. He’s been deep inside and stared into my soul. But witnessing him do whatever this is now - this medicated, not quite lucid, confessional - is making my heart skip in a brand new way.

He hums again. “You’re just too good to be true.” He starts to sing. “Can’t take my eyes off of you.” He has, though, taken his eyes off me, with lids shut tight.

I place a hand over my mouth to quiet the giggle. He does an amazing segway from Frankie Valli to Christine McVie, nodding his head to the music only he hears. His fingers slide around mine, his eyes still closed, lost in a half-dream.

“Don't, don't break the spell... It would be different and you know it will… You, you make loving fun… And I don't have to tell you but you're the only one…” He abandons the melody, ending with an abrupt side nuzzle into the pillow. “Loving you is fun, Winter.”

He’s the one that breaks the spell a few seconds later with an immediate, loud, obnoxious snore.

I slip from his grasp and walk toward the hall. With a close of his bedroom door, I whisper my own confessional. “Loving you is fun, too, Dean.”

*

My phone pulses. Somewhere.

It’s what wakes me from my dream. But my pillow is not as soft as I remember. And it smells musty like it needs a good wash. I groan and flip my head to the other side. I feel the slip of paper across my chin.

That’s… weird.

I come to, realizing I’m not lying in bed. I’ve fallen asleep in the Men of Letters library and toppled my seated self headfirst into whatever I was researching. Sticky blinks attempt to pry lids apart. I groan at the kink in my neck from the hunched-over position I was in for a few hours.

I hope I didn’t drool all over the volume.

“Oh, no.” The phone displays that I’ve got less than a half-hour to get myself to the library. Thursdays are my late days. But, I’m going to be beyond late. With everything that occurred last night, my regular life and responsibilities took a back seat.

I grab the phone off the tabletop and swipe. I’ll need to haul ass. I won’t even have time to shower. The missed call notification makes me cuss. The text message that buzzes makes me cuss again.

Ricky.

_ So. I’m here. You’re not. Call me, mom. Or I call the cops next. _

I call back without thinking of what it is I’m going to say.

“Where the hell are you?” The panic in Ricky’s voice has raised it by a couple of octaves.

“Morning to you, too.” I sass him.

“Want to let me in on the family emergency you had? Cause Cindy texted me and hoped I was alright. Wanted me to let you know not to worry about coming in. They had it covered so you could take care of whatever was going on.”

Christ. Cindy always had a soft spot for Ricky. He’d spend hours at the library with me after school when he was little. She even gave him a Junior Librarian title.

“I’m waiting, Mom.”

Chair legs skip along the tiled floor when I push back out of the seat and rise. My head rotates left, then right. I swirl on my heels. No one around. The contents of my son’s text sink in. “You said you’re here. Where’s here?”

He sighs. “At the house. Mom, are you okay? Is there some history of elderly dementia in our family that you forgot to tell me about?”

I bite my tongue at the acerbic wit. “Geriatric humor. Nice.”

“You sounded weird over the phone this weekend. And, then, when I got the message from Cindy…”

Even through the disorientation, my heart gets squishy. My big little guy was worried about his mommy. “I’m fine, Ricky.”

“Well, that’s great. But, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t have…”

“You owe me a home-cooked lunch.”

Then, the panic flooded my veins. He’s in Smith Center. Which is a lot closer to Stockton than Lawrence. This means my son is a lot closer to vampires now. “Deal. See you in a half-hour.” I end the call, slam the book I was reading shut, and head out of the library toward Dean’s bedroom.

The bedroom door swings open to an empty room and disheveled sheets. I don’t have time to search for Dean. Where the hell is everybody? I grab my overnight bag and decide to try the kitchen at least on my way out.

Cliff is the only one there, feasting on a bowl of sugary cereal. “Mornin’, Winter.”

I give him a slight wave. “Hey, Cliff. Know where Sam and Dean are?”

“Supposin’ Sam is still sleepin’. He was up pretty late tryin’ to crack that phone open for some clues. Dean mosied in about five minutes ago, looking like death warmed over. Said he was gettin’ a shower. We’ve got the body in the fridge to look at again a little later.” He points, with a spoon dripping milk, to one of many tall, stainless steel doors to his right and my left. The Men of Letters took everything seriously, even commercial-type refrigeration.

I shudder, hoping the body has been wrapped up and isn’t dripping all over any leftovers. How the hell is this my life right now? “Gotcha. Whichever one you see first, would you let them know I had to head home?” I nod and turn for the hall.

“Thinkin’ that’s the best idea, ma’am?”

I tip my head and stare at his raised eyebrows. “I do. I’ll be back in a couple hours.” There’s no time for polite concern when all I can think of is Ricky.

*

Twenty minutes into the drive home I had called Ricky. I asked him to check the fridge. I pushed away the image of a body chilling vertically back at the bunker. When he confirmed I didn’t have a can of buttermilk biscuits, I decided to pull into Gene’s grocery to grab those and a rotisserie chicken. It would only add another ten minutes or so to the trip.

I am not one to disappoint my Ricky when he asks to be fed. I don’t get the chance to feed him in real-time anymore. And I have missed him.

My phone buzzes again in my purse while I travel to the deli section. I answer without looking. My brain reverts to autopilot, transported back in time to years ago, when it was just Ricky and me. I expect to be reminded by my twelve-year-old to pick up milk and Ranch Doritos. The combination flavor profile makes me queasy from memory alone. “What’d I forget?” I ask.

“Kiss me goodbye to start.” Dean answers. Before I even get a chance to form a retort, he continues. “What’s going on?” He sounds out of breath and super close in my ear.

“Nothing.”

“A big ole’ nothing of something that you had to go home?” A few loud knocks fill the background.

I wonder what he’s up to and release a sigh. “Ricky’s at the house.” My eyes light up when I find three rotisserie chickens, hot and steamy in their containers to choose from. All of that roasted, seared, spice-rubbed goodness from the racks behind the counter, cooking the next batch, fills my nose.

“Oh.” The surprise is apparent in his voice.

“That’s how I felt. I know I should’ve stayed put, Dean. But, he was worried after he got tipped off about me missing work. And, with everything that happened…”

“Well, sweetheart,” he interrupts, “I hope you’ll understand that I was worried, too.”

My insides warm up at his confession. He’s gonna heat me up more than the poultry that I’ve deposited into my cart.

But all those feelings hit a brick wall and collide in my brain when I hear a very familiar voice on Dean’s end of the call. “Hello? Can I help you?”

Ricky.

Goddammit. 

My body freezes in the middle of an aisle I’ve turned down.

“Ah, yeah, um… I was just looking for Ms. Winter?” Dean’s voice is farther away. I’m guessing he’s got the phone by his side now.

“Dean Campbell, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Never forget those memorable requests.” There’s a pause. “You needed all the information we could dig up on soul eaters?”

God, that’s right. Ricky helped out one year at the library during Spring Break. Dean had come in and I’d introduced Ricky. I even let him assist us with the research. Probably not the best call. My astute son had teased me after Dean left that I might want to wipe the drool off my chin.

“Rick Winter.” My son may be a smart-ass, but he’s a polite smart-ass. I’d bet the rotisserie chicken in my cart he’s stuck a hand out for Dean to shake.

And, then, the call drops.

Goddammit.


End file.
